Feisty's Magic Grab Bag of Magic
by Feisty Y. Beden
Summary: This is where drabbles come to chill out w/other drabbles, show each other how it's hanging. Various ratings, pairings, angst levels. Newest chapter: Real Chagrinius, an FGB crackfic written for KCerena, based on *Real Genius*.
1. Two Dimensions

**A/N: Here is the Fandom Gives Back drabble written for kristenm214! Thank you for letting me share it!**

**She wanted pure angst, prompt: "picture."**

**Enjoy! (Note: not wussperv approved)**

**Rating: T  
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Two Dimensions  
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It was as if I had been living with my eyes closed. I _saw_ things, but nothing registered in my brain. All food tasted the same—cardboard. Ever since he'd left me, nothing seemed worth living for. I was little better than a potted plant. Even my skin felt numb. Sometimes I thought about suicide, but even that seemed like too much effort. It was easier to let inertia rule me.

Charlie wasn't pleased at all, of course, but what did I care for the feelings of others? I was _feeling_ too much of my own shit; that was the problem. My brain knew I should be making more of an effort, but my body refused to comply.

It was as if he never existed, as he promised. He took everything with him, the photos, the gifts, the lullaby. If it weren't for Charlie's memories, for the kids in school mentioning the Cullens from time to time, I would have thought I'd made it all up, delusions of a lonely girl.

Spending time with Jacob helped. I didn't feel like _me_, but at least I felt alive. And when I impetuously decided to go cliff-diving, I didn't think of anything beyond my own desire not to be numb anymore.

I didn't realize there could be repercussions.

I hadn't expected to see Alice, and from the look of her face, I think she hadn't expected to see me either.

"You're alive?" she asked, grasping my arms tightly to make sure I were real.

"Of course I am. What, you thought that just because you all abandoned me that I'd stop existing?" The vitriol in my voice surprised even me.

Alice crumpled to the ground, holding her head. Through tearless vampire sobbing, she told me everything: her vision of my jumping, Edward's grief, his exposing himself to humans in Italy, how the Volturi … killed him.

I was too stunned to cry. I was just a husk. Bella was completely gone now, her humanity burned away like Achilles' as his mother held him in the fire.

"Here." Alice pressed something into my hand and left. Who knew how long it was before I had enough strength to look down at the object? God, maybe, if there was a God. But to him time is meaningless.

It was just a 3x5 photograph, a snapshot taken on my birthday of Edward, as if clumsy, manmade technology could dare begin to capture his beauty. My Edward, trapped forever in this tiny space, in two inadequate dimensions.

It was all I had. And now, it was all I would ever have.


	2. A Better Birthday Party

**A/N: This is a drabble written for mskohl for the Fandom Gives Back auction. She has graciously allowed me to share it with all of you. The prompt I used was "write a better birthday party scene." And thus have I done. I think. Wussperv approved!**

**Rating: T/M? Depends what your definitions are.  
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**A Better Birthday Party**

"I don't want to."

"Come on, Bella, you know that birthdays are special things. None of us have them. Please let us celebrate with you."

"First of all, you know I hate presents. They make me all … uncomfortable," I huffed. "And secondly, I am so freakin' old now. I'm robbing the cradle. I am a cougar-in-training. Oh, the shame!" I hid my face in my hands.

"Bella, you may appear older than I do, but you still act like a petulant child. Alice has worked really hard on this party. So put your big girl panties on and just go through that door."

I giggled. "You said, 'panties.' Are you thinking about my panties right now, Edward?"

Edward grimaced. "No!" he shouted a bit too emphatically. "I … never … think of your panties."

"Oh, you think of me _not_ in my panties, do you?"

"WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION."

"Fine." I crossed my arms.

We were at the door, and Edward opened it with a grand flourish. "Bella's here!" he shouted, and he did this fake fanfare thing with a kazoo he pulled from his pocket.

"Dude. You carry a kazoo in your pocket? Do you have one there at all times?"

"Shut up," he said. "And kazoos are awesome," he added under his breath.

"Bella! You're here!" Various Cullens and Hales gathered around me, hugging me, twirling me about.

"Hi." I waved lamely. "Cool. Thanks for the party. I never had a vampire birthday party before, no lyin'."

Alice bounced over to me. Couldn't some big pharmaceutical company make Vampire Ritalin or some shit? "Bella! Open this present!"

I slipped my finger under the flap of the envelope attached to the present, when Alice snatched it back from me.

"Alice, what the fuck?" I asked.

"Bella, no! I saw what would happen! You were going to slice your finger open, and then Jasper was going to freak out, and then Edward was going to leave you in the woods, and then you were going to go catatonic and hang out with one of those boys from La Push, and oh, the flannel and bad hygiene you'd be sporting; I just can't allow it!"

"Okay," I said, backing away from her a little. "Why don't you open everything then?"

Alice clapped like a seal and tore open wrapping paper, throwing gifts at me right and left. "You're going to love this one!" she'd say before starting the next present.

She threw dresses at me, a Three Wolf Moon shirt ("Emmett, I have no idea what you were thinking, buying this piece of hideousness," Alice said, wrinkling her nose), a Hickory Farms Big Beef Stick ("Finally! You and Edward can play Hide the Sausage," Alice squealed, while Edward went to look for a shovel to dig a grave for himself).

"Who wants cake?" she asked after all the presents had been opened.

The vampires all coughed and looked around. "Actually, Alice, I'm trying to cut out refined sugar from my diet," I began.

"EVERYONE IS EATING CAKE, END OF STORY," she said, brandishing the cake knife.

"Um," I said. "Okay."

"Alice," said Esme gently, "do you really want all of your family to end up throwing up on this most wonderful occasion?"

"Esme," Alice said, rolling her eyes, "I'm not an idiot. I made a fancy aspic out of animal blood! And I molded it to the shape of Bella's head!"

"Yay?" said Jasper.

I had to admit, my cake was pretty good—German chocolate. And from the way the Cullens and Hales stopped talking while scarfing down the disturbing blood mold of my head, I'm guessing the blood-mold-cake was acceptable as well. I can't tell you how weird it was to blow out a candle wiggling around the crown of a gelatinous, bloody replica of my head.

But anyway.

Edward drove me home. "Happy birthday, Bella," he said, kissing me on the forehead.

"Where's my present?" I asked, hands on hips.

"Oh, I thought you didn't _like_ presents," he teased.

"Oh my god, I cannot believe my BOYFRIEND didn't get me a BIRTHDAY PRESENT," I bellowed, probably waking up the entire neighborhood.

He pulled me close to him. "Feel that?" he asked.

"Did you put the Hickory Farms Beef Stick down your pants?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

"No. Get upstairs. I'll be there in a second. I'm going to pole vault up to your bedroom using only my gigantic erection."

I raised my arms in a victory salute. "Best. Birthday. Ever!"


	3. Another Birthday Party

**A/N: OOPS, THIS is Chele681's drabble, not the one prior. She wanted a drabble about Fitzsie, Alice, Jasper, Edgar Allen Poe, and a special object. This takes place in the Fix You universe, in the time between the reconciliation and before spring break.**

**Rating: K+? **

**Wussperv APPROVED.  
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Another Birthday Party, But for the Correct Recipient**

The tiny woman and the tall gentleman were dressed in their finest. They stood a moment before the gentleman rang the buzzer.

"Keep your pants on!" said the frail woman inside. There was fumbling and swearing and clattering, and a little bewildered meowing. Finally, the door opened.

"Hi, Fitzsie," said the gentleman, reaching in for a hug. Fitzsie squeezed him tightly. Even though she was short, it was not by accident that she let her hands graze along the gentleman's gloriously toned buttocks.

"Fitzsie!" he exclaimed in shock.

"Oh, shush, Jasper. I know you love the attention." She winked at him, her bright blue eyeshadow shiny and startling on the loose skin of her closed eyelid.

The petite woman beside him smiled. "I'd hug you, Fitzsie, but my hands aren't free." She inclined her head down to show the gift-wrapped box she had clasped to her chest.

"Well, come in, come in! Don't let all the warm air out!" Fitzsie commanded. She pushed them in and shut the door. "Now, who wants which hat?"

Jasper cleared his throat. "Do you have anything … macho?"

Fitzsie rolled her eyes. "Please. I was never a Charlie's girl. Ladies should look like _ladies_. What, like you want a cowboy hat or something? Edgar would be so disappointed. It's his special day."

"All right, what hat would Edgar like me to wear?" Jasper sighed.

"Do you even need to ask?" she said, a twinkle in her eye.

"_Save me_," Jasper mouthed to his petite companion. She stifled a giggle and shook her head, putting her package down on the coffee table.

Fitzsie soon returned with the giant Ascot hat with the taxidermy birds, mesh netting, zebra stripes. It had not improved with age. Grimacing, Jasper allowed her to put it on his head.

"Alice, sweetheart, today you will wear my First Communion veil," Fitzsie said with her head in the hallway closet.

"Really?" asked the petite woman. "You still have that?"

"I keep everything, dollface," she said, returning with a beautiful, antique square of lace. "My grandmamma brought this all the way from Ireland," she said proudly.

Alice looked like an angel, and Jasper gazed at her with shining eyes, momentarily forgetting the atrocity on his head.

"What will you wear, Fitzsie?" asked Alice.

"I'm wearing my foam Statue of Liberty souvenir hat." And surely enough, she was. "I'm Lady Liberty!" she crowed.

"And where is the guest of honor?" asked Alice gently.

"He's waiting to make his grand entrance," said Fitzsie, nodding, the foam crown wobbling on her thinning hair. More meowing came from a back room, the sound of claws against wood. "Let me get him."

She opened the door, and there was nothing but a blur of black and pink. The cat finally stopped when he smelled Alice. He jumped into her lap and started purring.

"Why hello, Mr. Edgar Allen Poe," she said, scratching him under his chin. "Um, Fitzsie? Why is Edgar wearing a pink party dress?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to sew cat pants?" asked Fitzsie.

Jasper prepared the tea, having had many lessons with his Alice. He knew how to do it properly. He knew how to make Edgar's dish of weakened tea and milk perfectly.

"Happy birthday, Edgar," he said, placing the dish at Alice's feet. Edgar leapt down and neatly lapped the tea with as much dignity as he could muster in his pink frills.

"Open your present!" Alice said to Edgar when he had finished and was licking the last bits of tea and milk from his face.

"I'll take care of that, dearie," said Fitzsie. She unwrapped the gift carefully, turning it round and round in her hands when she was finished. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Jasper picked it out," Alice smiled.

"How did you know Edgar Allen Poe loves Obama?" Fitzsie asked.

"Just a hunch," said Jasper. "Plus I know he'll like eating the chia sprouts." Fitzsie opened the box and put the Chia Obama head reverently on the coffee table.

Edgar flopped onto his back, his paws in the air, and when he meowed, it sounded remarkably as if he had said, "Meow we can."


	4. Flight of the Infinite Jesters

**A/N: This one-shot is for mon-ange22, purchased for the Fandom Gives Back auction. Thank you for your generosity, and one of the most fun prompts I have ever had ("Flight of the Conchords" with Bella-vampire as #1 creepy stalker fangirl Mel).**

**Warning: Cracktacular times ahead.**

**Disclaimer: I doubt anyone would want to claim this as theirs, and yet, SM owns it all. There's also a David Foster Wallace quote in there, although I've not finished reading _Infinite Jest_.  
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Flight of the Infinite Jesters**

The first time I heard them, I knew I'd finally found my mission in life. You know how that is? Like, I understood what those old nuns meant when they spoke about receiving "the call." I received "the call" loud and clear, as if transmitted by fiber optics and a gong and smoke signals and a whole marching band spelling out the message during halftime at the Superbowl.

_Follow them. Follow them your whole life. This is your mission. _

Message received.

I'd heard them on the radio. I was in the middle of writing a paper, and I had my stereo tuned to the university radio station's semi-popular Graveyard Junkyard program, the late-late-shift spotlighting little-known bands. From the first two or three measures, it was like the heavens opened and dropped a golden anvil on my head. Finally, my life had direction.

I stopped mid-paper and went online to search for the group, the Infinite Jesters. Oh holy crow, they were adorable. All three of them. There was the burly-looking bassist, the drummer with the intense eyes, and the lead guitar/singer whose face could melt a thousand vaginas, like, in a good way. (_Was there a bad way to melt a vagina? Hmm, maybe a carbonic acid douche?_) I scrolled down the list of tour dates on their website. They'd be coming to my university town in two weeks.

Two weeks. That was enough time. I'd be ready. I downloaded everything I could from iTunes, listened to them nonstop, even while sleeping, until I was pretty sure their chord progressions and harmonies were oozing out of my pores.

"You stink, Bella," Jessica said, wrinkling her nose as she sat down next to me with her bagel and orange juice.

Oh. Maybe I also hadn't been bathing. It was possible. I couldn't wear earbuds in the shower. Jesus, I may have been obsessed, but I wasn't crazy—I didn't want to electrocute myself. Priorities, man. The Infinite Jesters were my life now. I had to stay alive for them.

The next two weeks, Countdown to IJ-Day (Infinite Jesters Day), were a haze. Did I even finish writing that paper? I couldn't remember until my English professor handed back a stapled packet with so much red on it that I thought it had been the target of a cruel prom night prank. _See me, Swan_, a note from the professor had said, with a big **D** scratched at the very top of the page.

I flipped through the paper. I had no recollection of writing it. Apparently all I'd done was write Infinite Jesters lyrics on every page, sometimes breaking it up in block-quote form so it looked like blank verse. At least I'd broken the phrases down into iambic pentameter. That had to have been worth something.

It was a pity that my paper's original topic had been "women's sexuality as commodity in epistolary novels of the eighteenth century." The professor, a beady-eyed, cadaver-esque old dude with tenure, had circled, "_That other people can often see things / About you that you yourself cannot see, / Even if those people are stupid_," and written, "ORLY?" next to it. I couldn't believe I'd reduced the crusty old man to LOL-speak. I read further. "I highly doubt these lines occurred anywhere in _Werther_. It honestly does not scan like Goethe. Or perhaps this is a translation with which I am not familiar." His sarcasm fairly dripped from the page. I wondered when he'd last gotten laid. Maybe he was, like, a two-hundred-year-old virgin. I couldn't help picturing his genitalia as crumbling ruins, like the old Roman aqueducts. Then I succeeded in grossing even myself out.

I tossed the paper in my bag. I would think about this later. Tonight was the concert at Amphibious Mephistopheles. I hadn't slept all night in anticipation. Come to think of it, I wasn't sure the last time I remembered sleeping. Everything was Infinite Jesters. It was like that scene in _Being John Malkovich_, when John Malkovich enters his own brain and everyone is John Malkovich. It was like that, only with the Infinite Jesters. When I was called upon in class, I may have said only, "Infinite Jesters?" I was pretty sure it was the wrong answer, since the class was on the Sengoku period of Japanese history. I could have tried to tie in Kurosawa's _R__ā__n_ and _King Lear_ and the Fool, but it all would have come out "Infinite Jesters" anyway. Oh boy. I was probably failing out, but what did I care? Infinite Jesters, goddamn!

One night I snuck into the dining hall to steal a roll of aluminum foil to make my own Infinite Jesters cap. I wore it constantly, even to class. I noticed that people gave me rather a wide berth, even in the large lecture classes. Whatever, they couldn't handle the purity of my love.

Even Jessica didn't sit with me at breakfast anymore. But that was okay; it left me more time to focus on the Infinite Jesters. They deserved my every waking thought, my every breath, my every burst of adenosine triphosphate produced by my mitochondria. I'd be immersed in a song during dinner and look down to see I'd sculpted my mashed potatoes into a striking likeness of the Infinite Jesters' lead singer. Who knew I was so good with a fork and boiled, mashed tubers laced with artificial butter? The fork tines were perfect for his unruly hair. Oh, my melting vagina.

I patted my foil jester's hat into place and put on my homemade Infinite Jesters t-shirt. Okay, so I didn't make the _shirt_ by hand, but I did take a Sharpie to it and write "INFINITE JESTERS ARE MY BABY DADDIES" on it. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, I was going to see them in a few hours. I had to breathe into a paper bag for a while so I wouldn't pass out from excitement.

I laced up my sneakers and headed out. Wait, were sneakers okay? Were they holy enough? Were these sacred sneakers? I'd be walking on hallowed ground, ground where the Infinite Jesters had trod, where their sweat may have fallen. Jesus, I wanted to follow behind them, lapping up their sweat from the sidewalk.

I nearly punched everyone in the face ahead of me in line at Amphibious Mephistopheles. I was just that pumped to get inside. I wanted the best view! I deserved it! I was their number one fan! My god, when were they going to let us in? I could totally understand why soccer fans got trampled sometimes. If I hadn't weighed about one hundred pounds soaking wet, I would have gone a-trampling.

The beefy bouncer started to let us in. I thanked the Holy Trinity of the Infinite Jesters, i.e. the Emmett, the Jasper, and the Vagina Melter, for making the show eighteen and over. I wasn't going to turn twenty-one for another six months, and if I'd been barred from the Amphibious Mephistopheles, I might have exploded.

Literally.

Okay, not _literally_. But you know, it was serious.

There was some lame-oid opening band. I was hysterically weeping in anticipation like those girls in stock footage from the Ed Sullivan show, jumping up and down, hearing the foil of my jester cap crinkle. "Just please, please bring on the Infinite Jesters!" I kept screeching, tearing at the greasy hair that trailed down under my awesome hat. I was drawing some stares, but fuck them. Fuck. Them. My love was the purest!

And then finally, the wussy guitarist with the sad chin pubes unplugged his guitar from the amp. "Thanks, we're the Mike Newton Sensation," he said with an awkward wave.

"What the fuck ever!" I shouted. "Bring on the Jesters!"

A few people threw me disgusted glances. "These guys _go here_," some asstard said, shoving me in the back.

"Jes-ters! Jes-ters!" I shouted in his face, clapping loudly and nearly slamming his nose between my palms.

"Freak," he muttered, giving me some space on the floor of the club.

The lights dimmed, and … well … I lost my shit.

Literally.

Okay, not literally. But if soiling myself in front of this packed club would have proven my love for the Jesters, I would have done it in a heartbeat. Praise Emmett, hallelujah. Glory be to the Jasper. Abide with me, Vagina Melter Edward.

The minute Edward strummed the first chord, it was as if his fingers were right on my clit. Holy hell. I was orgasming all over the place, which made the floor kind of messy, because I'd always been, well, kind of drippy. People were starting to point. Some dude might have slipped in my puddle of ecstasy. "Sorry," I mouthed, but he was too busy looking for Purell or some shit.

I knew all the lyrics, and I was swaying, feeling the spirit move me. I may have spoken in tongues at one point. The golden anvils kept dropping on my head, and I kept saying, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, mothers of Infinite Jesters, for birthing these exquisite specimens; holy be thy names, random baby mamas." And still, the orgasming continued. I really should have worn rubber pants.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. "Tapped" may not have been the right word to describe it, as the "tapping" was more like a heavy thumping. I reluctantly peeled my eyes from the stage and turned to face the thumper. _Oh, hello, Mr. Bouncer_.

"Ma'am? There have been complaints about your … behavior and … erm …" He looked profoundly uncomfortable. "Your, uh … secretions. The management would like you to leave."

"No! NONONONONONONO!" I shrieked. "Don't make me go! What about _them_?" I asked, indicating the Holy Triumvirate of Jesters. "They don't want me to go!"

His Holiness the Vagina Melter stopped his song. "Actually, Foil Hat Lady, you are distracting us."

"OMIGOD DID YOU SEE THAT HE TALKED TO ME RIGHT AT ME HE KNOWS I EXIST!"

"Let's go," said the bouncer, dragging me out of the club, but I fought him every inch of the way.

He deposited me in front of the club. "Sorry, lady. I know how excited people can get." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Do you see this? This is my restraining order from Kelly Clarkson." He hung his head and mournfully began singing, "Since You Been Gone." I slumped down next to him, and the two of us sat on the stoop of the club and wept for a while.

"Why don't they love us?" I asked.

He wiped his face and cleared his throat. "You best go home, ma'am," he said, patting me on the head.

I wove an unsteady path back to my dorm.

"Ms. Swan!" exclaimed a familiar voice. It was the crusty old tenure guy from my lit class. Cripes, this was the last thing I needed.

"Yes, Professor?" I said, turning my head so I could roll my eyes.

"Isn't it unwise for you to be out so late?"

I pulled off my bedraggled jester's cap. "Are you being creepy? Don't be creepy."

"Excuse me, Ms. Swan? _Creepy_? Is that how you address the Balthazar Q. Haversherfordinghamsmythe Professor of the Humanities?"

I tried to walk around him. I was in no mood to defer to cranky old dudes who smelled like Vicks VapoRub and mothballs. "I'll show you where you can Fordinghamsmythe your fucking Haversh—"

He had me by the throat. The _throat_, motherfuckers! His hand was cold and surprisingly strong. "Ms. Swan, I consider myself a tolerant man. I actually read that sad excuse for a paper you handed in last week. You never came to my office hours. I'll tolerate your calling me 'creepy.' But no one, I repeat, _no one_, takes my named professorship in vain. Now apologize." He loosened his grip on my throat slightly.

"Fuck off, Creepazar Q," I gasped.

He clucked his tongue. "Ms. Swan, I'm afraid I'm going to have to teach you a lesson."

And then that fucker bit me!

"Jesus fuck, you fucker! That fucking hurt!" But then the burning started, and in the background I could still hear the celestial music of the Infinite Jesters, playing me into the blackness.

***

Bright. Everything was too bright. I forced an eye open. Had I been on a bender? Where was I? I looked at my hands and briefly wondered if I'd covered myself head to toe in foil. I was awfully shiny. Little rainbows flickered off my skin. "That can't be right," I muttered to myself, trying to stand up. Suddenly I was high in the branches of a tree. What. The. Fuck.

What was the last thing I remembered? _Mothballs and VapoRub_. I was going to file a complaint with the Provost's Office. I wasn't well-versed in university policy, but I was pretty sure professors were forbidden from biting their students, whether or not they had tenure. I tried to get down from the tree. I'd always been afraid of heights. I was trying to strategize the best way not to break my neck, but then I slipped off the branch. Surprisingly, I landed like a cat, all gracefully, although my jeans ripped right up the back. I could feel a cool breeze on my ass. _Well, that's just great_. I stood up straight and saw I was near the back entrance of my dorm. Maybe a shower was what I needed. I couldn't remember the last time I'd showered.

I couldn't find my keys, but I pushed on the gate, hoping that the person in front of me hadn't shut it all the way. It creaked open, but off the hinges. That was weird. My entryway door also opened easily, and I was surprised to find yellow tape in front of my room. I tore through the tape as if I were running across a finish line.

"Excuse me. Ma'am. You can't be in here."

There was some campus cop in my room. "This is my _room_!" I yelled. The windows shattered. Man, this dorm was falling _apart_. Where did all my tuition money go, exactly? Certainly not to building maintenance, that was for sure.

"Who are you?" the cop asked, whipping out his little notepad.

"Isabella Swan."

"But … but you're _dead_," he said, looking frightened.

"What? Are you high?" I walked toward him, furious. "Will you tell me what the fuck is going on around here?"

"B-been missing for three days, last seen at a concert at Amphibious Mephistopheles. Found a large quantity of blood matching your DNA. Presumed dead."

"What? That's crazy." I laughed and slapped the guy on the back.

I heard a loud cracking sound, and he kind of fell over dead.

Did I just do that? I looked at my hand. I opened and closed it a few times. I tapped on the coffee table. It crumbled into a million splinters. This was getting odd.

Suddenly I noticed my throat was on _fire_, and dead cop smelled … delicious. I leaned down to investigate further, and my mind went blank. The next thing I knew, I was holding this desiccated body in a blue campus cop uniform, my throat felt cool, and my belly was sloshing with liquid.

Oh, shit.

I looked at myself in my full-length mirror. I was still wearing my "INFINITE JESTERS ARE MY BABY DADDIES" shirt, now stained and covered with blood, both old and fresh. On the plus side, I was smokin' _hot_.

Okay. Okay. _Breathe. Shit, did I still need to breathe?_ I inhaled and exhaled. Well, at least my lungs were still working. I held my breath while looking at my watch. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Two hours. Okay, I didn't _need_ to breathe. Interesting.

I stuck my hand out the window, wondering if I would smolder. I just got all sparkly. Holy shit, this was awesome. It was as if I had been permanently Bedazzled.

I went over the information the cop had given me. They all thought I was dead. That meant I didn't need to go to class anymore. I could just follow the Infinite Jesters. I powered up my computer, breaking only a few of the keys as I tried to log into the network connection. I went to the Infinite Jesters' website, trying to see where they would be next. Tonight they'd be two towns over. I could make it.

I took a shower and packed a bag as my hair dripped all over the floor. I took all the clothes I'd bought online when I was drunk but had chickened out wearing in public. What did I have to hide from now? As I said, I was _smokin'. _And Bedazzled!

The sun had set by the time my bag was packed, and I trotted toward the next town. Jeez, I could run _fast_. I was always the worst athlete—for my high school physical education credit, I'd convinced them that speed Play-Doh Fun Factory extruding was an Olympic sport. I'd threatened them with Title IX if they didn't let it count, and they were so lawsuit-shy and uninformed that they just let it slide. I extruded for an hour three times a week, and they let me graduate.

But _now_. Oh my word. I could run like a … like a … like a fucking _gazelle_ or some shit. I was at the next town in about ten minutes, just as the opening act (Mike Newton and the Crustaches again) had broken down their equipment. I flashed the bouncer my Bedazzled tits, and he let me in without a ticket.

"Infinite! Jesters! Infinite! Jesters!" I yelled, clapping my hands. I leaped on the stage and called down to the crowd, "When I say 'Infinite,' you say, 'Jesters'! INFINITE!"

"JESTERS!" they yelled, clearly as pumped as I was.

"Oh no, not her again," I heard someone behind me mutter. I turned around and was face to face with Mr. V. Melter himself, Edward Cullen.

I saw him look me up and down. I could practically feel his gaze on me like a heat lamp. "'Sup?" I asked, nodding, trying to be all chill.

"You … are … hotter than you were the last time," he said. "Carry on."

I turned back to the crowd. "INFINITE!"

"JESTERS!"

This time, no one tried to throw me out. Were they afraid of me? Or was I just that hot? I didn't know. In my new form, I didn't cry hysterically, which was a bit of a relief. Oh, make no mistake, I was still orgasming all over the place, but the floor remained dry. Huh. There was so much I needed to learn about my new nature.

I flashed the bouncer my tits again on the way out, so he told me how to get to the stage door, where I waited, crouched like a panther, ready to spring as soon as they came out, oh holy men, gods of music.

I heard laughing, back slapping, beers popping. And then the door began to open. Heavenly choirs in my head sang, and I walked up to the three magnificent musicians. "Hi," I said, trying to hold in what I _really_ wanted to say, which was more like, "_Omigod squeeeeeeeeeeeeee dolphin noises oh my crap my vagina exploded aaaaaaaaaaaaa_." So it was just "hi." I liked to think I came off pretty suave.

"Oh, hello, you," said Emmett, coughing and trying not to make eye contact.

"So, uh, I'm Bella Swan, and I want to follow you guys like everywhere. Do you have a fan club? You need a fan club. I will start your fan club. I will be president of your fan club. Fan club. Do you need a ride somewhere? I can carry a lot of stuff on my back. I could make, like, a tour rickshaw for you guys and pull you wherever you wanted. I'm, like, wicked strong, and I don't need to sleep, and I'm really sparkly, and I'll show you my tits whenever you want to see them." I took a deep breath, even though I knew now I did not need to breathe. "I mean, um, hi." I waved and tried to look nonthreatening.

"Uh. Yes. Ahem. That's very kind of you, Miss …"

"Swan," I added breathlessly. "But call me Bella. Or whatever. Call me _whatever you want_." My chest was heaving.

"How about we have our manager contact you? Here is his card." Jasper slipped me a business card, and I tried not to lick him as he made the transfer. Keyword: _tried_.

"Did you just _lick me_?"

"Um, what? Ha, ha," I laughed, tossing my hair and doing my best impression of a nonchalant, non-stalker fangirl. Because I _totally was not any of those things. _

Okay, maybe just a little.

I slipped the card between my rock-solid boobs. "Thanks. I'll give …" I looked at the card briefly before tucking it back in my marble cleavage, "this _Murray_ a call tomorrow."

"Great. Yeah. Yeah. That'll be great," nodded Edward the Vag-Melter.

_Keep it together, Bella. Be cool_. "_Eeeeeeeeeee_," I let slip. Oops.

The three boys had their hands over their ears, and I swooped in quickly to catch the beers in their hands.

"Wow, did you see that?" asked Emmett. "She didn't spill a drop!"

"I'm fast. You know. I mean, breezy. La la la."

"O..kay… Bella. Um. We have to go to our hotel now. Catch you later?" said Emmett as the three boys backed up slowly to their old-school VW van. They didn't break eye contact the whole time.

_Yeah, they want me_, I thought.

I gave them a few minutes to drive away and feel safe, and then I began jogging behind their van. I watched from the bushes as they checked into the hotel, and then I waited, listening. I ate one of the night maids, took her uniform and keycard, and let myself into their room after I could hear their breathing steady and slow, indicating sleep.

"Room service," I whispered as I pushed the door open.

I perched on the heater and watched them sleep. Whenever they stirred, I'd hide behind the curtain. Once Edward got up to pee, and it was seriously, like, the highpoint of my life. Wait, I was dead. The highpoint of my death, then. Yeah.

As the sun began to rise, I let myself back out and waited in the parking lot by their van. _Thank you, Balthazar Q. Haversherfordinghamsmythe Professor of the Humanities, you old prick_, I said to myself as I waited for the boys to finish making their own waffles at the free continental breakfast.

My undead life was going to be _awesome_.


	5. A Continuation of Light

**A/N: This started out as a Twilight 25 entry, but Ms. Kathy bought me for FGB to write a oneshot for Ms. Algie. This is a continuation of "Light" (chapter 25).  
**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.

* * *

**

**Light**

I was still getting used to all the color around me. I'd never seen so many colors before. I tried to name them all, but soon I ran out. I was sitting up on an exam table, crinkling the butcher paper beneath me. I could see the paper molecules, and if I really concentrated, I could see the electrons spinning around the nuclei of each atom. Everything looked like a universe, but tiny enough to fit on the head of a pin.

"Hi," I said shyly, looking at Edward. It felt rather as if we were meeting all over again.

"Hey," he said, smiling. "Are you okay?"

I wiggled my fingers and my toes. "I think so."

He held out his hand, and I pressed mine to his, palm to palm, flesh to flesh. "Welcome to forever," he said.

"What?" I might have been dreaming. "What happened to me? Are you real?"

"You fell in the parking lot at school—do you remember?"

I felt an echo of a sharp pain in the back of my head, my legs failing me. "I think so." My hand reached up to touch my hair to try to feel for a sore spot.

"I was out in the woods by the school …" he trailed off, looking unsure about how much he should tell me, "but I could _feel_ your pain. And when I came near enough, I could smell … that you were bleeding. A lot."

"But I can't even feel a bruise," I said, poking at different parts of my scalp.

"I picked you up," he continued, shivering a little, "and ran here to my dad."

That made sense—Carlisle Cullen was an emergency room doctor. "And he fixed me up?" I asked, puzzled, still trying to feel evidence of the fall on my body.

"You … had lost too much blood. You were dying," he said.

"Am I … dead now?" It would explain a lot. "Is this heaven? Were you the angel only I could see?"

He laughed bitterly. "I'm no such thing. And … well, you're not dead. I'm not sure what you'd call it. You're still here, in Forks."

"Why is everything so different?"

Edward turned away from me. "Carlisle, can you explain it to her? I … can't find the words." He pulled a chair to the corner of the room and sat it in, fidgeting a little, and keeping his back toward us.

"You'll have to forgive Edward—he hasn't ever been through this before," Carlisle said, looking at me with kind eyes.

"I'm sorry—you're going to have to start from the beginning. I have no idea what's going on."

"Do you believe in the supernatural, Bella? Do you believe in things that haven't been proven?"

"I … I _think_ I believe in God, maybe," I said, remembering the bright, golden light, the uncontainable joy that had vibrated through me.

"Do you believe in vampires?"

I laughed. "I'm sorry, what? I thought you said 'vampires.'"

"It's no joke, Bella. Do you believe?"

Images came to my head: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Nosferatu, plastic fangs, fake blood, capes with ridiculously oversized collars, Count Chocula. "I … don't see what this has to do with anything," I said. "And, um, I guess I don't, really."

From the corner, Edward said, "Why can't I hear anything she's thinking? I thought things would change, after …"

"There's so much about ourselves we don't understand, Edward," said Carlisle. He turned back toward me. "I'm afraid there's a lot more to this world than science could ever explain—and I've been studying for a long time."

"I don't understand what any of this has to do with, well, anything."

"Come with me, Bella," Carlisle said, offering me his arm. I linked my arm with his and let him guide me to the sliding glass doors leading to the sunny balcony by his office. If I had been mesmerized by the dull light indoors, this pure sunshine seemed full of dancing celestial bodies.

"The light!" I exclaimed with childlike wonder. "It's like my dream, brighter than anything I've ever seen in the real world."

Carlisle slid the door open. "Please, after you," he said, gesturing to the door.

I stepped through, immediately turning my face to the sun. I'd never before seen all the flares coming out of it. Right now, there was no question that the sun was not a solid mass, but plasma, heat, and light endlessly pulsating and morphing and shifting and stretching. "So beautiful," I said, closing my eyes and feeling its warmth.

"Look at me, Bella," said Carlisle softly, and I turned toward him. He'd stepped onto the balcony with me, and his face was lit up, almost unbearably bright, refracting the light into tiny rainbows. Surely he hadn't looked this way when we were inside.

"What … trick of the light is this?" I asked, walking a few steps closer and touching his face. It didn't feel different despite its transfiguration; it felt like normal, warm flesh.

"It's no trick, Bella. Look at your own hands." I looked at the hand that had been touching Carlisle's cheek, and it, too, was sparkling, shimmering as if it weren't solid, but rather, made of light as well.

"Is this magic? Did you … use anesthesia on me when you fixed me up? And now I'm hallucinating?"

"That would be easier to accept, wouldn't it?" Carlisle said, smiling sympathetically.

I looked from him to myself and back again, the strangeness of our skin. "What … am I?" I asked.

"You are Bella Swan," he said. "But you are also now … one of us."

"I'm a Cullen?" The man seemed to be speaking in riddles.

"I mean that you are no longer human. You are like us, a vampire."

I began to slap myself. "Wake up, Bella! Wake up!"

Carlisle stopped my hand. "Bella, my dear, you can't wake up. This is not a dream."

"What have you _done_ to me?" I asked.

"We gave you life. You were dying. You would have died from blood loss in that parking lot if Edward hadn't found you and brought you here."

"Why?" I whispered. I was dying; I was dead. This was like having my life extended artificially, being hooked up to a respirator, all things I hadn't wanted when I considered where my disease might take me. "Why didn't you let me die?"

Carlisle looked pained. "I'm sorry, Bella—Edward … he … couldn't bear the thought of life without you."

"But he's not alive," I said. "And he never asked."

"Did you want to die? Would you rather have died?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I wish someone had asked me."

Carlisle sighed. "I know. It's not fair, and maybe … maybe we should have just let nature run its course. Maybe we shouldn't play God."

I turned away and stared out into the woods. I could see every insect, see the heat radiating off animals hidden in the shrubbery. I had no answer for him. Was I glad to be alive? I wasn't sure. What if it went against fate, against what was _supposed_ to happen? But then again, was a high schooler supposed to get multiple sclerosis? How was _that_ "right"?

What would I have said if he'd asked me? I never had been able to make decisions anyway. Maybe it was easier having had the choice taken from me. I always got stymied, spinning out every possibility, every outcome, weighing the pros and cons, ultimately unable to come to any conclusion.

"Bella." It was his voice, the angel's voice. Edward stood at the door. Carlisle must have slipped back inside. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken for you. I should have let you choose."

I shrugged. I didn't know what to say to him. It was hard to be angry when I remembered how long I'd pined for him. And now he looked so broken, so sad. "You were trying to do the right thing," I said.

"I was being selfish. I didn't want to lose you."

"I didn't realize I was yours to lose," I said, equally annoyed and flattered.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "We can … make this right. We can ask you now."

"Now?" I asked. "But it's already been done. I'm already … something else. How can you ask me now?"

He looked at his feet. "I mean, I guess we could … if you didn't want to live like us. We could make it so I didn't get to you in time."

"What are you saying? Vampires can time travel too?"

"There are ways to kill our kind."

"You're … giving me the choice? To die?"

He nodded. "It should have been your choice to begin with. I shouldn't have spoken for you. I was hoping that you'd want to … be with me—I mean—us." He still couldn't look me in the eye. "I was so lonely, and I thought that maybe you might … grow to like me."

I fought the urge to sock him in the arm. "I always liked you, silly. You just never looked at me."

"Really?"

"I mean, duh, have you looked in a mirror? Or—wait, do you have a reflection? Shit, do _I_ have a reflection?"

"That's a myth," he said, allowing himself to smile. "We show up in mirrors just like humans."

"Okay fine—so I'll repeat my question: have you looked in a mirror?"

"I … have occasionally," he said. I wondered if he realized he was adjusting his hair as he spoke.

"So you _are_ aware that you are incredibly good looking?"

"Is that a fact?" He grinned at me.

"I mean, don't get all bigheaded about it," I said, taking a step back. "But yeah, you are pretty _Teen Beat_ material."

"I'm afraid … I don't know what that is."

"You're, like, one of the Coreys of our time."

"Is this English?" he asked, looking slightly bewildered.

"Jesus! You're hot, okay?" I said in exasperation.

"What is this 'hot' of which you speak?" he asked.

I threw my hands up and started to walk away. He caught me by the arm. "I'm just messing with you, Bella. I understood that last one."

"You're an asshole," I grumbled, looking down at my chest.

"Bella, did you know that I never wanted to live until the first time I saw you?"

My plaid flannel shirt clashed greatly with the rainbows that bounced off my neck and chest. "What? You're not even alive."

"I've been like this for a long time," he said. "And I, like you, was angry with Carlisle for changing me into _this_ without asking. Maybe I would have chosen death. And for many years I _wanted_ to die. Carlisle and I came to an understanding, and I grew to tolerate this existence, but I never enjoyed it, never wanted to be here, until the first day I saw you."

"Why me?" I asked, daring to look at him again.

"I'm not sure," he said. "Maybe it was because I couldn't hear what you were thinking. You were a puzzle."

"Whoa, back up there a second—of course you couldn't hear what I was thinking. That's not normal."

He smiled again. "I'm not exactly _normal_, Bella." He touched my face, and I did not flinch away. "Ever since Carlisle changed me, I've been able to hear the thoughts of everyone around me. It's why I liked to be alone at school—too much noise all the time."

"Why even go to school then, if you've been around for so long?" I asked. "Surely you've long finished your education."

"Eternity is a long time," he shrugged. "Going to high school is kind of like having an ant farm or going to the zoo. It's fun to see what you people do. But I like to observe from a distance, so I don't get headaches from all of your thoughts. And then when I met you … you were like ice water on a burn. Those moments we spent in the darkroom together … they were peace and rest for me—something I haven't had since I was human."

"So, you liked me for my mind, then, did you? Not for this hot bod?" I tried to laugh it off, but inside there was a tiny seed of hurt. Of course his attraction to me had nothing to do with how I looked. Why should it have mattered? Well, as much as the pretty girls wanted to be loved for something besides their looks, maybe smart girls wanted to be told they were pretty too.

"Bella, I was drawn to you before I realized your mind was closed to me."

Was he lying now? "Really?"

"There's no one else in the world like you, Bella, and believe me, I've been looking a long time."

"So, what now?" I asked, looking past him into the study where Carlisle perhaps waited for us.

"I'm giving you the choice to be like us, or to go back to the parking lot. You get to decide."

"Charlie," I said. "What about Charlie?"

"Your dad? You … well, you shouldn't be around people for a while, at least not until your bloodlust is under control."

I remembered what seemed like an eternity of burning and agony. "Wait—how long has it been since I fell?"

"Three days," said Edward.

"What? I've been missing for _three days_?" I rushed into the house, Edward on my heels.

"Carlisle!" I called. "Is my dad all right? Is he looking for me?"

Carlisle sat at his desk. "We were waiting for you to wake up so we could discuss what to do next."

"Three days?" I said, clutching my head. "He must think I'm dead. He must be worried sick. Oh!" I exclaimed, remembering the parking lot. "What if he went looking for me and found the blood in the parking lot? They'd know it was mine, and with my truck still there …" I was pacing and wringing my hands.

"No, no," Carlisle said. "It's okay. We bought a little time. We drove your truck here and hid it in the garage, and we washed the spot in the parking lot where you fell, washed it so even a bloodhound couldn't catch your scent. Edward looked in your backpack for your notebooks, and he forged a letter in your handwriting telling Charlie that you needed to get away for a few days and that you were all right. We even put some of your saliva on the envelope in case they wanted to run DNA tests on it."

"Do you work for organized crime or something?" They certainly had covered all bases. "God, he must be going crazy with worry. What do we do?"

"That's up to you," Carlisle said. "Edward's right—we should have given you a choice. Whichever you decide will determine what we tell your father."

"Can I pretend none of this happened?" I asked. "Do I look very different? Will he notice?"

Carlisle led me down the hall to a bathroom. "Do _you_ think you look very different?" he asked, gesturing at my reflection.

My eyes were glowing crimson red, and my features had somehow rearranged themselves to be their more perfect relations. I looked like myself, and yet not, sort of like those caricatures that artists would do at carnivals. I looked … _almost_ like me, but something was off. How would he react to seeing my face?

"He'll never believe nothing happened to me," I murmured, looking at the mirror into a stranger's eyes.

"We can make like the disease took you, and inform him of your death. We could bring you to the hospital, fake an accident on the road—if that's what you want," Carlisle said. "We'd understand if that's what you wanted to do. It's the natural way, the way that things should have happened. We should not have meddled."

"Poor Charlie," I said, feeling a pain in my chest that swelled and ate away at my insides. "I can't do that to him."

"But you would have," said Carlisle. "You should be dead now, and someone would have found you, called 911, and Charlie would have been one of the first to arrive on the scene. He would have found you broken, having bled to death."

"Why are you being so cruel?" I asked. "I can't … do that to him."

"I'm only stating the facts, Bella. I want you to be able to make an informed decision."

"Oh, Daddy," I cried out, and Carlisle left my side and closed the bathroom door behind him to give me privacy. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees. So these were my choices—to live as something not quite human, or to die, never to see Charlie again, to break his heart. What kind of choice was that?

Someone rapped on the door softly. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, Edward," I said, still curled up in a ball.

He sat down next to me. "I'm sorry it's so hard. I'm sorry any of this happened. I wish you had never been sick. I wish you'd just been able to live out your normal life. None of this was fair to you. _Life_ wasn't fair to you." He put his arm around me, and I was surprised at how his simple gesture made that gnawing creature inside me shrink as a shadow disappears in the light.

"Maybe this was the way it was supposed to happen," he said. "Maybe I was always meant to find you. Maybe this was God's way to give you a chance at being happy, of having a healthy body that obeyed you. There's no disease in you now, and very little can kill you. You're strong, Bella. You'll live forever, if you want."

"I want to see Charlie," I said. "Can I still … can I live in his house and be his child?"

"I don't know," admitted Edward. "That's not usually how it works. Usually we are dead. We are discovered as dead, and our families mourn and go on. Or we had no family left to begin with."

"That can't be right," I said. "I can't break his heart. He's a good man, and a great dad."

"Have you made your choice, then?"

"I can't break his heart," I said again. I thought about all the roads stretching before me, all the possible outcomes, and my thoughts streamed out like a flowchart in front of me with arrows and choices and options—it was almost too much to handle. As I followed the invisible chart, trying out every path, I could see only one acceptable ending.

"I'll live—for him, at least for now. Until I can figure something else out. I have to be able to say goodbye to him, at least. I need to know that I'm not going to see him again."

"If I hadn't found you, you wouldn't even have this choice," Edward said.

"Then thank you, for giving me the chance to say goodbye." He just nodded shyly and stood, reaching a hand out to help me up.

We left the bathroom hand in hand and found a crowd waiting for us in the hallway—Carlisle had brought the rest of the family to meet me. I already knew Edward's siblings from school—Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie. It was strange to think that they all were _vampires_. I nearly laughed when I thought of it. Maybe I'd just gone insane and none of this was real. "This is my wife, Esme," Carlisle said, ushering forward a woman with the sweetest face I'd ever seen.

"Oh, Bella, we're so glad to have you, that is, if you'll have us," she said, and she hugged me hard. She made me miss my mom, who never had held me with such warmth.

"Hi," I said into her hair. "So when can I see my dad?"

Carlisle sighed. "It's complicated. We don't know how you'll react to him. You may try … to kill him."

"What? I'd never—"

"Bella, you don't know how it is. Come with us," he said, and he led us all single file out of the house and into the dense woods.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Just toward some of the hiking trails," he said. He gave knowing glances to the others, who surrounded me in sort of an upright rugby scrum.

We waited by a clearing for some time, and then I could hear it: rustling, and a heartbeat, the whooshing of blood through valves. Everyone around me tensed, watching for my reaction.

"There are two of them," whispered Jasper. Esme gave my hand a squeeze. I realized then that every member of Edward's family had a hand on me, ready to hold me back.

In a second I understood why. Two hikers came close enough to smell, and their hearts beat so loudly that I thought I would go deaf. I wanted to cry out from the noise, and I made a move to clap my hands over my ears, but the Cullens held fast to me, keeping me immobile.

"Do you see now?" Carlisle asked.

"The noise is too much," I cried. "Please take me away from here."

"The noise?" Carlisle looked confused.

"Their hearts! Surely you hear it too?"

Carlisle said, "And what of the smell? And your thirst?"

"I …. I'm not particularly … hungry at the moment," I said. "Am I supposed to be?"

"Is there anything you'd like to eat right now?" asked Esme.

I thought about it, poked myself in the stomach curiously. "Not really." The hikers had smelled of sweat and feet and … _humanity_.

"Doesn't your throat burn?" asked Jasper. "Can't you feel the urge to tear into their necks and drain them?"

"Jasper!" scolded Edward. "You're not helping."

"That … is not at all appetizing," I said. "My throat burns, but kind of like that time I had strep. Can vampires get strep?"

"So curious," murmured Carlisle. "Well, let's head back to the house, everyone."

We sat around their large kitchen table. "So, Bella, you had no desire to kill those humans or to feed on them?"

"Not exactly," I said, wrinkling my nose. "The noise, though, that was hard. Maybe I need to get earplugs."

"You're going to have to eat something, darling," said Esme, walking to the fridge and peering inside. Where normal people would have had milk and orange juice and a dozen eggs, the Cullens' fridge was filled with bags and bags of blood. Some were labeled with names, and I thought of being at Angela's house, where they had to buy three different kinds of milk because of fat content preference and varying ability to digest lactose. She grabbed a handful of bags, one each from a different part of the refrigerator. She cut them open and filled several mugs, sliding them in front of me.

"Do any of these appeal to you?" she asked. "Oh, should I heat them up first? The boys are such brutes, you know, liking their blood cold."

I sniffed at each mug. They didn't smell bad, but they didn't smell quite like _food_ either. I felt five pairs of eyes staring at me, and I could actually feel Esme's maternal concern like a weight on my shoulders. I took a tiny sip out of one of the mugs. I drank the whole mug down to be polite.

"That one was bear," said Esme.

"Yes!" said Emmett. "Girl's got excellent taste."

I wiped my mouth carefully with the back of my hand. It was … not unpleasant, but again, not quite like food. I felt as though I'd just had one of those liquid breakfast shakes. The burn in my throat lessened, however. "I'm feeling fine, thanks," I said.

"We have plenty more," Esme offered.

"No, I think I'm all right."

"Really, quite curious," said Carlisle. "No bloodlust at all?"

I laughed. "Maybe something's wrong with my brain. You know, like, whatever made me sick in the first place?"

"Interesting," said Carlisle.

"So can I see Charlie?" I asked. "He must be worried sick."

"You've decided to stay, then?" asked Edward.

"Well, for the time being. And I need to see my dad."

Edward brought me my cell phone. "Maybe you should call him first."

The phone had barely rung when Charlie picked up. "Bella? Bella, honey?"

"Hi, Dad," I said.

"Thank god," he sobbed, and that monster was gnawing at my insides again. "Isabella Marie Swan, you are in a heap of trouble."

"I'm sorry, Dad," I said. I hadn't known what I would tell him, but in the end, some version of the truth felt best. "I … fell in the parking lot, and I was so upset with myself and my body and all the things I'll never get to do … I just had to get away and pretend none of this was happening. I just needed a vacation from my disease. But you got my note, right?"

"I did." I could just imagine the look on his face, the narrowed eyes, the clenched fist.

"I'm coming home soon, okay?"

"Okay, baby girl," he said, and I knew his fist was relaxing back to an open palm.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," he said. "I'm just so … glad you're okay."

"And, uh, Dad?" I said. "I'm bringing someone over. A boy someone."

"Uh-huh," Charlie said, and I knew his hand had curled back into a fist.

***

"What should I wear?" asked Edward. "I'm kind of nervous. Your dad sounded scary on the phone."

"Wear a tie. That'll tell him that you're not some punk. Anyway, he already knows your dad. We saw him a lot at the hospital … you know, before."

He drove the old red truck back to my house. Esme had washed all the blood and grit out of my clothes, so at least I was returning in the same clothes I'd left in and not looking like a crime show victim.

The truck announced our arrival from several blocks away, and Charlie stood at the front door anxiously as we pulled into the driveway. Edward ran around the back of the truck and opened the door for me. Charlie raised his eyebrows.

"You're Dr. Cullen's kid," he said.

"Yes, sir, I am," said Edward, helping me out of the truck.

"He's a good man," said Charlie.

"The best," agreed Edward.

They shook hands, and Charlie glared at me. "You have a lot of explaining to do." His eyes softened, and he hugged me hard. "But I'm glad you're safe. Also, you are grounded for, oh, about forever."

"Okay, Dad," I said, kissing his cheek. I could see every whisker of his five o'clock shadow; focusing still further, I could see his every pore. But then I could blur my eyes, and see as I used to see.

"Your eyes, Bella—what's happened?"

"Oh, I got these crazy colored contacts," I said with a casual wave of my hand. "I was in a costume shop, and everyone at school avoids me anyway. I figured I'd have fun with them." I'd never been a good liar when I was alive, and I was surprised how easily I could now tell tales.

"You look different. You been doing drugs?"

"Daddy!" I rolled my eyes at him. "As if the shit I'm on already isn't bad enough."

"You've missed dinner," he said. "Want me to heat something up?"

"No, I'm not so hungry at the moment," I said. "In fact, I'd like to go to bed now." I fake-yawned.

"Yes, I think you'd better," said Charlie.

I hugged him again, as gently as I could. "I love you, Daddy."

"You too, kid. Jesus, you're cold. You'd better get to bed. Do you need extra covers?"

"I know where to find them," I said, starting up the stairs.

He led Edward to the door. "And nice to meet you, Edward. Tell your father I say hello."

"Of course, sir. Goodnight."

"Wait!" my dad called after him. "How are you going to get home?"

"My sister Alice is at a friend's house not too far from here," he said. "I'll catch a ride with her."

"Okay then," said Charlie, closing the door. We were alone now, and his heart beating was not too loud to bear with the special flesh-colored earplugs Carlisle had fitted me with before we'd left. "You are grounded forever, as I said earlier, but I'm glad you're home. Where, may I reiterate, you will remain for forever. Except for school and job interviews and college. Forever. Got it?"

"Forever," I said, grinning, running up the stairs and not tripping once.

I opened the door to my room and was shocked to see Edward standing in the corner with his finger on his lips. "Act natural," he mouthed.

I shut the door and walked over to him. "What the hell are you doing here?" I said as quietly as I could. I took the earplugs out of my ears.

"We never got to talk," he said.

"Oh." I didn't know what to do with my hands or my body or anything, really. I'd never had a boy in my room. I supposed Edward didn't count, since he wasn't exactly a boy.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," I said.

"Do you think you'll decide to stay?"

"I am grounded forever," I said. "I kind of have to stay here."

"I mean, alive. Do you choose this life?"

"I … I guess so," I said. "I can't leave Charlie."

"You have a big heart," he said.

"Do I still have a heart?" I asked, looking at my chest.

He walked forward and carefully put his hand there. "It may not beat, but it still lives, in our own way. I can see the love radiating from you. And I hope, one day, some of that light might be for me."

I put my hand on top of his and looked into his curious eyes. "We have forever to find out," I said. He kissed the top of my head and made a move to slip back out the window.

"Wait!" I called after him. He stopped, straddling the windowsill. "What happens now?" I asked. "I'm not sleepy. What am I supposed to do?"

"You … we … don't sleep. All your hours belong to you now. You can do whatever you want."

"Oh," I said, feeling panicky. "That's a lot of time, forever."

"You get used to it."

"Could you—I mean, if you don't mind—could you stay with me? It's my first night."

"Of course," he said, coming back inside and shutting the window.

"Can we at least pretend to sleep?" I asked, looking at my feet. "I think that might be easier."

"I'll never leave your side as long as you want me here," he said, walking closer to the bed. "How, uh, should we do this?" he asked. "Do you want me to stay on top of the covers?"

Somehow modesty seemed silly on this side of mortality. "We can both, um, be under the covers."

"Okay," he nodded, slipping off his socks and shoes.

We climbed in from opposite sides into my familiar bed, and awkwardly adjusted ourselves, trying to figure out where we fit. I put my head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me, and though I didn't sleep, I felt more at peace than I had even during the most wonderful of dreams.

When the sun rose, that golden, divine light flooded the room, entering my body and making everything within me hum. "Do you feel that?" I whispered to Edward, who still held me in his arms.

"What am I feeling?" he asked, pulling me more tightly toward him.

"The sunlight inside me. I've never felt this kind of joy—my whole body is singing."

"I hear your song," he said, "and it is beautiful."

The sun traveled across the floor, lighting our skin, sending rainbows bouncing off the walls and the ceiling, transforming my room into a chamber of light and miracles.


	6. Even Carnies Get the Blues

**A/N: Here's a drabble for bookjunkie1975 for FGB. Sorry it's so late! She wanted Vamp Alice and Jasper to go to the county fair on a date.**

* * *

**Even Carnies Get the Blues**

"No," I say. "These things are shit."

She pouts at me.

"I can buy you a better one at a real store."

She shakes her head.

"You'll squeeze it to death before we even get back to the car."

She gives me the sad puppy eyes.

"Fine!" I slap down a crumpled bill. The carnie slides me three stained baseballs and gives me an oily smile. He thinks I can't see the milk bottles are all glued together?

I wind up and let loose, and the whole pyramid of milk bottles falls over in one piece, taking the top layer off the chunk of plywood they're glued to.

He opens his jaw a few times to say something, but seems to decide against it. I just point above his head, and he reaches for his hook.

"Here," I say, placing the large Pink Panther in her waiting arms. "Happy now?"

"Oops," she says, as its seams burst open and cheap stuffing pours out of it like sand.

"Come on, I'll buy you a corndog you can't eat," I say as I pull her along, Styrofoam beads spilling behind us like a breadcrumb trail leading us home.


	7. A Matter of Taste

**A/N: Here is another FGB drabble, this one for Diana Wolfskill. She ... didn't really give me a prompt, but just said she wondered if I drank Coke or Pepsi. Answer at the bottom.**

**

* * *

**

**A Matter of Taste**

This being a vampire thing was a snap. Jesus, why did everyone make like it would be so hard? Sure, the three days of burning and writhing and dying kind of sucked, but hey, now I was smokin', I got all the sex I wanted with full-throttle Edward peen, and Jacob was finally off my back about making "decisions" and "choosing life" or whatever the fuck he always would go on about. No, I wasn't happy about his imprinting on the fruit of my loins, because, you know, that's kind of creepy. But, whatever. I couldn't believe they'd made me wait this long.

So it was a bit of a shock when we were watching the typical soda wars ads during the Super Bowl and I suddenly felt like sobbing my eyes out. Except, of course, I couldn't cry anymore. "What's wrong?" Edward asked, no doubt feeling my sudden wave of emo bounce off Jasper and into his brain.

"I … I don't remember what soda I liked best!" I wailed.

"Darling, is this … vital information?" He looked puzzled, and I could tell he was treading carefully.

"I didn't think to write it down!" I'd written pages and pages in my journals so I would remember my human life, but I'd neglected to document this part. I closed my eyes and tried to think back to my mortal existence, but it was like waking from a dream and feeling hazy impressions, nothing fully in focus. How could I have forgotten to write down a simple _Coke_ or _Pepsi_?

"You don't even drink soda anymore," Edward tried to point out, but I ran to his old room and shut the door. Logic had no place in the mind of Bella Cullen, _nee_ Swan!

Emmett was the one who thought of it—doing what they did in market research: taste test. He rushed off to the grocery store and came back, grinning, with several plastic grocery sacks.

"Isn't it going to make me barf?"

"Well, yes, but at least you'll know, right?" he said, unloading a few more two-liter bottles on the kitchen table.

Edward came by to oversee the taste test table. Glancing at the bottles and labels, he said, "Emmett, where is the Crystal Pepsi?"

"What the fuck is Crystal Pepsi?" I asked.

"What is … oh, Isabella, I forget how young you are sometimes." He turned to Emmett. "I can't believe you didn't get Crystal Pepsi."

"Live in the now, bro! I think you can buy that only in Mexico and eBay these days. And that shit's nasty. She may be immortal, but no way I'm letting her drink some twenty-year-old soda."

"Can we get on with this?" I interrupted, not wanting them to get into a fight.

Edward blindfolded me and led me to a seat. I could hear caps being unscrewed, soda fizzing, liquid poured into plastic cups. I could hear each bubble of carbonation, and I could practically see the foam on the top of the glasses.

"Ready?" Edward asked.

"Sure."

Wow, you know how vampire senses are super-heightened? Cola is some vile shit—all those chemicals, and then the unnecessary fizz? What's that all about? I spit out every single thing I tried. From the shouts of surprise, I guessed I spat a lot of backwash on the boys.

I put my head in my hands. "They're all disgusting. I can't choose. I mean, Coke sounds so familiar, but then Pepsi, Pepsi is like, well, do I like Pepsi? Am I feeling betrayed by Coke because they tried to change their formula? Maybe Coke and I took a break? Maybe Pepsi was, like, a breath of fresh air and pure sunshine?"

"OHMYGODSHUTTHEFUCKUP!"

I removed my blindfold. When had Jacob gotten here? I should have smelled him, but I supposed I was too inundated with nasty cola chemical shit.

"Coke," Jacob said, slamming down the bottle in front of my face. "Pepsi," he continued, slamming down the other bottle. "Yes, we have our Royal Crown and Tab and whatever, but we always knew they weren't in the running. Because, come on, really? RC is like that dorky kid whose parents own, like, a sporting goods store. Tab? Probably doesn't even like chicks. So you got your Coke and you got your Pepsi. Coke's the classic—see, it even says it on the bottle. Pepsi, well, it's the underdog, and people always think they _like_ Coke more just because they've been, like, _brainwashed_ by the media, but blind studies show that people actually prefer the taste of Pepsi. But only if they think they're drinking Coke. So are you going for flash, or are you going for taste? Even if the one that tastes better might not have the same cachet? So which are you, Team Coke or Team Pepsi?"

"Wait, what was the part in the middle?" I asked.

"AUGH!" yelled Jacob, throwing up his hands.

"Was it something I said?"

"Never mind him, love." Edward cupped my cheek in one of his perfect hands. "Do you want to keep going?"

"Nah," I said, getting up. "What's on TV?"

* * *

**So yeah, I drink Coke most of the time because it tastes less sweet, but every now and again I want the extra kick of Pepsi. This was informative, no? No. I see. Carry on.**


	8. Continuing Adventures of Silver Volvo

**A/N: This was a drabbly thing written for BellaFlan's birthday. I thought, why should she have all the fun? So here it is.**

**

* * *

****The Continuing Adventures of Silver Volvo**

Woe. Woe, oh woe. It had been weeks since I'd last gotten to cup those divine marble cupcake asscheeks of the dark and brooding one. He was all like, "Greenhouse emissions" and "smaller global footprint," so he'd started running everywhere on those stupid skinny muscular legs of his, not like I cared. I once saw him eyeing a tarty little Prius as it sassed by all hybrid-like in front of the house. _Back off, biznotch_, I yelled telepathically to show that little whorish Toyota who was boss. But my territorial pissing didn't seem to deter him from checking out her chassis as she sped away.

I tried to suck in my muffler and look as streamlined as I could whenever he walked by, but it was no use. All my pedals were dusty and neglected. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd gotten revved good and hard. I couldn't even remember what it felt like to be pounded again and again by the treads of expensive leather shoes. I was also overdue for my three-thousand-mile oil change, which did nothing to make me feel less self-conscious about that "not so fresh" feeling. Who'd want to look under _my_ hood?

I had taken to sleeping as much as I could, moping about, staring off listlessly. In the dead of night, I felt someone wrap heavy, smooth cloth over my headlights. _Is it the dark one_? I wondered, as I felt my keyhole filled completely in a way I hadn't been in ages. The key was rammed into my hole again and again until I nearly screamed from the intensity, riding the cresting wave between pleasure and pain. It had to be him. He was back—and … kind of kinky.

He wasn't wearing anything as he sat in my curved bucket seat, and I groaned as I felt his cool smoothness. I hurried to warm his naked cheeks, but he flicked the seatwarmers right back off. Oh, it was about me, my pleasure then. He rubbed my dashboard raw with Armor-All, vacuumed up every last square inch of me until I thought I'd burst. Aside from his bare ass on my seats, he wouldn't touch me except with gloves, nor would he let me see him. Even without the cloth covering my headlights, I probably wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway.

Right when I thought I could take no more, he stopped abruptly, exited me. My seat cushions gasped at the sudden absence of his weight, but before I could protest more loudly, I felt something cold and hard, where his ass had just been: a parting gift? The pleasure of his release? Then he was gone, the cloth still covering my headlights.

He would be back for me soon … wouldn't he?

I fell asleep, dreaming of chamois, when I heard his voice. "What the fuck is going on here?" Angrily he ripped the cloth off my headlights, and I squinted in the sudden sunlight. There he was, brooding and moody as ever, standing all tortured in the field of heather. His piercing gaze penetrated my window, and I blushed, feeling terribly exposed. How long would he continue the charade? _We shared something_, I willed him to hear, to remember. He gripped my door handle, jerking me a few times before my door opened. I couldn't stand the look of disgust in his eyes as he examined my interior. What had I done wrong?

"Which one of you assholes took a dump in my car?" I heard him yell toward the house, and I wondered if that meant he wasn't taking me to prom.


	9. Is It Me You're Looking For?

**A/N: Here is a wee futuretake for "Fix You," a little birthday present for adoraklutz! Happy birthday, my lovely wussprude! **

**

* * *

Is It Me You're Looking For?**

It was tech week for _A Little Night Music_, and I'd been so busy living in the theater that I had no concept of the days. School was great—more than great. Sure, it was intense and exhausting, but I finally felt completely _me_. This was what I was born to do.

I took the L train to my little studio apartment. The L train always smelled like patchouli, for obvious reasons. I could have walked, but I'd been on my feet for hours. Piano tech was the _worst_.

After climbing to my fifth-floor walk-up, I flopped facedown onto my mattress. I hadn't bothered getting a bedframe, and I liked feeling close to the floor. Grounded. You know, since I was so grounded now. I'd roll out of bed in the morning and go right into tree pose in my bare feet on the dingy linoleum, and imagine my feet were roots reaching all the way down to the concrete foundation of my building, deeper, through layers of dirt, civilization, ruins, until it was me, drawing energy from the earth's core.

I must have dozed off immediately, because I was pirouetting on top of a 14th Avenue crosstown bus, and then "I'm Your Moon" was blasting everywhere, from all the cars around the bus in the slow crawl around Union Square. No, wait, no. That was Jasper's ringtone, which meant Jasper was calling me. I woke up to a face full of rumpled bedspread and fumbled around, trying to find my phone without moving.

God, I hadn't even taken off my shoes. I groaned and patted around the bed until I found my satchel.

"Mrrf mumble," I said. I was trying to say hello, but that was just how it came out.

"How's my beautiful girl?"

"Union Square, stupid pedestrians, the pigeons are wearing top hats, and my character shoes are made of cabbage leaves."

His laugh rumbled through my body, waking me up with waves of low frequency vibrations.

I rolled onto my back. "Hey," I finally said, squinting at the light I hadn't bothered shutting off. "What time is it?"

"Midnight exactly," said Jasper. "Happy birthday."

"What?" I stifled a yawn. "No, really? God, I have no idea what day it is."

"How hard are they working you, sweetpea?"

"It's tech week," I said, as if that explained everything.

"Well, I assure you, it's your birthday, as of one minute ago."

It was coming back to me now. "Mmm," I said. I couldn't wait for the weekend, when he'd take the train up to come to opening night, and take me out for birthday treats. And then take me home for other, different birthday treats.

"And what did you get me for my birthday, Mr. Whitlock?"

"That's _Master_ Whitlock."

"For the last time, that's not what you get called after you get your master's degree."

"Umbrage. I take great umbrage at this flagrant disrespect for my higher edumacation," Jasper sniffed.

"You're going to be pissy on my birthday?"

"Yes," he said, but I knew he was smiling. How I wished I could see that smile now, the one so wide his eyes crinkled up.

"You didn't answer my first question," I said.

"Which one was that?"

"The one about what you got me for my birthday?"

"Ah, hold on," he said, and I heard wind and static on the other end of the line.

"Are you walking home right now?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose," he said.

Some asshole was stumbling up the stairs, and it was so loud I almost could hear it from the ear pressed to my phone.

"Hold on a second—I have another call," Jasper said, and as I waited, the drunk asshole kept clomping up the stairs. Must have been my next-door neighbor. He pounded on my door.

"Wrong apartment, asshole!" I shouted. "You live next door, remember?" This confusion was a biweekly occurrence.

But he just kept pounding.

I stood up and immediately regretted it, my feet aching. "Dude," I said, taking three big strides to the door. "You. Live. Next. Door." I was ready to grab his keys and push him into his own apartment. I swung the door open with my bitch face on, but as I raised my hands to shove the bastard, it was Jasper who stopped my hands, guiding them to his heart.

"I most certainly do not," he said with a grin.

"What … how …? But you're not supposed to be here until Friday!"

"Surprise, baby."

All my fatigue was forgotten, and I threw my arms around his neck. He walked into the apartment with me clinging to him like a crazy monkey.

"Well, Miss Alice, I do believe you have a present to open," he said, setting me gently back on the mattress. He unzipped his messenger bag and handed me a floppy package wrapped in wrinkled Christmas paper.

"Now?"

"Yes."

I tore the paper off and turned this—dear lord, what _was_ this?—object in my hands. "Jasper, is this a wig?"

"Yes."

"For me?"

"Yes. Put it on."

"Are you serious?"

"Am I ever not serious?"

"Sometimes." But I obliged him, and put on the … jheri curl wig. "Jasper, do you have a Rick James fetish I don't know about?"

"Yes," he said solemnly. "But more importantly, I recall telling you once that I'd think you were beautiful even if I were blind, and you asked me if I would make a clay sculpture of your head."

"_Hello_," I sang, "_is it me you're looking for?_" I collapsed in a fit of giggles while Jasper kissed me all over.

"Is it like making out with all of DeBarge?"

"Yes. But better. DeBarge with breasts."

"Awesome," I said, and let him crush me under his weight, his fingers slowly pulling the ridiculous wig off my head.


	10. Three Birds

**A/N: Here is an FGB drabble for PerfectMeadow. She gave me a bunch of prompts, but the one I used was this photo:**  
**http:/ i46(dot)tinypic(dot)com/2q81p55(dot)jpg**

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**Three Birds**

The inside of your wrist is a private place. It's where you dab perfume. It's where someone presses two fingers to feel your pulse. It's where he kisses you, and only him, because he's the only one you trust enough to brush his lips so tenderly and yet so close to the veins, to the life, snaking underneath. Wrists are pale no matter how much time you spend outdoors, as if the sun itself feels it improper to gaze on the secret skin.

So it was not without significance that Bella chose this spot to mark herself on her eighteenth birthday. Three birds, each representing an escaping soul. The first: for the night when his life was taken away, a lifetime before she was born. The second: for the night they became one body, one flesh, when she gave herself to him because she wanted to be consumed, inside and out, by his touch. And the third: for the night he left—"for her own good," he'd said—when she felt that last bit of her soul fly away, hovering over him as he walked farther and farther away from her until he disappeared completely. "Live your life," he'd said. "Be happy."

But of course there was no life left in her, no matter how strong the pulse beat against her fingers whenever she'd grip her wrist, trying to remember the feel of his lips on her skin.

The needle hurt, with its slow, relentless buzz, and she teared up, her vision hazy. Everything looked like an impressionist painting, blurry, watery, dull, yet somehow beautiful in its vagueness. Still, it was nice to feel _something_.

She felt each bird being inked on her skin, and the dull aching of each one brought to her mind bright visions of the three souls.

The man carefully taped the gauze to her wrist when he was finished. As she walked back alone into the dark, wet night, she clutched her arm to her chest, the gauze like a shroud, her heart beating against the new soreness. "Fly away now," she whispered. "Fly away home."


	11. Becoming the Air

**A/N: Can you believe I'm still working off my FGB indenture? This drabble is for sakari-x, who wanted EPOV for any part of "Goodnight, Noises Everywhere."**

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Becoming the Air  
**

I lay on the floor, waiting for the pale light of the breaking day to make its way across the room. Sometimes I had to laugh at Carlisle. I mean, you're given—or cursed with—eternity, and how do you choose to spend it? By going to high school endlessly? I admit, occasionally I'd get swept up in Emmett's amusement watching Jasper struggle not to eat the freshmen, but then Alice's worries would flit like frightened moths at the edges of my mind, and I'd feel guilty for being tempted to crack a smile.

There was a time I refused to go to school—being pelted with the cacophony of inane adolescent thoughts five days a week seemed a cruel punishment, and what had been my crime? Dying of Spanish influenza while a vampire happened to be the doctor on call? But in the end, I realized being alone with my thoughts was far worse than surrounding myself with the predictable, horny thoughts of the typical American teenager.

I was trying to muster up the energy to get dressed for the day when I felt Alice cry out. "What is it?" I muttered, even though I knew her thoughts would soon bleed into my own. And then I saw _her_, the dark lashes, the delectable flush in her cheek, the fingers tangling as she crumpled the smudged scrap of paper with her schedule and locker combination. "Who?" I began to say, but I was overcome with Alice's secondhand aural impression of a fragile heartbeat, nervous, ragged breathing. Alice's vision was so sharp that I became the air this unknown human breathed.

Then a low knock on my door. "Edward?" It was Alice. "Don't go to school today."


	12. Real Chagrinius

**A/N: Dear KCerena, I am so sorry this FGB oneshot has taken so long to deliver. Happy New Year! And that goes for the rest of you too!**

**Disclaimer: SMeyer owns, as well as Neal Israel, who wrote the screenplay for _Real Genius_.**

**I heartily apologize for what nonsense follows.  
**

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* * *

Real Chagrinius**

So I was in the school auditorium, dazzling everyone with my amazing science fair project on mitosis, onion root cells, and laser-cats, when this mysterious guy in a suit showed up. Guys don't wear suits in Forks unless they're the stiff at an open-casket wake, you know? And even then it's not a real suit, just a one-sided dealio that ties in the back like a hospital gown. As you can imagine, all eyes were on the guy. Maybe he was a zombie. Maybe he was here to eat our brains. I was suddenly nervous, since I knew full well I had the biggest, tastiest brain in the entire auditorium, I mean, me with my laser-cats and shit. Jesus, people at my school couldn't even operate a bottle opener.

And wouldn't you know it, he zeroed in on me. See, I'm always right. Always.

_Crap, crap, crap! _I thought._ Now I'll never win a Nobel Prize or have an element named after me!_ I hastily tried to rig one of the laser-cats to incapacitate the undead, but before I could switch the polarity based on carbon dioxide emissions, Suit Zombie Guy had grabbed my hand.

"I'm not organic or free range!" I screamed, twitching.

"Um, Miss Swan?" He had a particularly suave voice for a zombie. I wondered what the process was to mummify vocal cords, and what sort of sound waves might be produced when air passed through such a membrane.

"Hands off the brain," I mumbled, pulling away.

He smiled, not showing his teeth. It was kind of more like a grimace. "Miss Swan, I'm from Pacific Tech. We're offering you immediate transfer, full tuition scholarship, into our program in engineering. You'll be assisting me on a special project for which only a handful of upperclassmen have been selected. It's a great honor."

Not a zombie. So there was hope after all for _Bellatonium_ (atomic weight: 6969).

"B-but I'm only fifteen," I stammered, blinking. Blinking's kind of my thing. I'm really awesome at it.

"Do you really want to spend another year and a half in this hellhole?" the man said, gesturing vaguely toward all the meatheads with their sad foaming volcano projects.

"I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name."

"Professor Jerry Aroaway."

"What kind of last name is 'Aroaway'? It sounds like a stain remover."

"Not all of us can have such pleasant, avian surnames, Miss Swan." He touched the fingertips of one hand to the other's, Mr. Burns-style. "So? Will you join my team? Will you fulfill your potential?"

I bit my lip in what I hoped was an alluring way and blinked at him beguilingly. "Where do I sign?"

* * *

Mom and Dad weren't too thrilled about my getting away. "But we'll miss _prom_! And that talk about _birth control_ I've always wanted to have with you! I've been working on a special IUD diorama and everything," Mom wailed.

"Yes, that's horrifying," said my dad, chewing on his mustache. It was made of licorice, so he was always fiddling with it. Did I mention that earlier? He's got a weird medical condition where all his facial hair comes out licorice. But it's how the town knew to choose him as the sheriff. "He who hath the five o'clock shadow sweet and chewy lo like the nipples of heaven shall guide thee and bust all thine local meth labs," it says, plain as day, in the town charter.

What can I say? Forks is weird.

"I'll be home before you know it," I said, zipping up my last duffel bag and throwing it down the stairs. "Look at me, a fancy college co-ed!"

* * *

Pacific Tech was bigger than anything I'd ever seen in person, even that strip mall with the Target we drove a good six hours to that one time. My parents had finally driven away in their wood-paneled station wagon, my mom sobbing all the way, my dad offering her a few stray chunks of licorice from time to time. I was supposed to go to some freshman tea, but I was already lost. I figured I'd just go back to my dorm so I could change clothes and unpack.

When I got to my room, my suitcases were empty. My drawers were empty. Where was all my stuff? Then this pale older guy with eyes like pools of butterscotch-colored urine just opened the door and walked in, didn't even knock. He wouldn't look at me. He just scratched himself in the general balls area (which made an inexplicable tinkly chiming sound) and shuffled off into one of the closets. When I checked the closet a second later, he wasn't in there. This was some freaky shit right there. Is this what college was like? Or life outside of a small town?

I was still staring into the closet when I heard a noise behind me. I turned around to find the door open to the hall, and someone hanging, bat-like, upside down in the doorway.

"Hi! Would you be prepared if gravity reversed itself?"

"I, uhh," I began.

The woman righted herself, shaking her hair back into a perfect, shampoo-commercial-like poof. "The only thing I haven't figured out is how to keep the change in my pocket. No, I've got it—use my vagina as a coin purse."

I sputtered. "What if you have a nickel allergy?" I finally managed to say.

"Good point," she said. "I hadn't considered that. Maybe I'll invent a cream."

"So, um, I got here this morning and dropped off my stuff, and now I can't find it," I said in an attempt to change the subject from her vagina.

"You see, Isabella—it _is_ Isabella, right?"

"Just Bella," I corrected automatically.

"Well, Isabella," she continued, ignoring me, "I used to be you. And lately I've been missing me, so I asked Aroaway if I could room with me again, and he said sure. So I put all your clothes away in the bottom drawer there—shirts, pants, plaid flannel, shoes—I had a little trouble with the tiny cactus so I threw it out. I'm Esme. But you can call me 'Mom.'"

"Whut?"

She ignored me, coming in for a big hug. "We are going to have so much fun!" she said as she squished me.

"I can feel your boobs," I said.

"Aren't they amazing? They're scientifically perfect."

"In what way?" I asked, slowly untangling myself from her slightly creepy embrace.

"I don't know; that's just what my quantum physics professor told me last semester."

"All righty then," I said, clearing my throat. Best not to stay alone with this Esme for too long. "I, um, have to go." I shut the door behind me before she could follow me out.

I avoided Esme for the rest of the day, which was actually pretty easy to do on such a big campus. The entire town of Forks could probably fit in the student center. I got winded walking to the lab to work on Dr. Aroaway's project—it was more than I walked in probably a month back home. Man, I was flabby.

I went into my assigned lab, and this big asshole waved me off. "Just leave the sandwiches and go."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you speak English?"

I just stared.

"If you're waiting for a tip, you can just turn around. We ordered those sandwiches, like, hours ago."

"Was I … supposed to bring sandwiches? Is this like some hazing thing?" There was so much I didn't understand about college.

The guy pushed his glasses up his nose. "You. Are. _Worthless_!"

"I … I'm supposed to work on Dr. Aroaway's project?" I offered.

The guy sputtered, eventually recovering enough to snort in contempt. "What, are you like the Doogie Howser of engineering?"

"I'm sorry, should I know who that is?"

"You're just an embryo, aren't you?" he sneered. "A brain-damaged embryo."

"Does this Doggie Whoever go here or something?"

I'd never before seen a guy slap his own forehead so loudly.

I was saved when Dr. Aroaway came into the room. "Ah, Miss Swan, I see you've found the lab." He looked at my tormentor. "Newton, this is Miss Swan, the brightest mind of her—as well as your—generation. No, you two are not of the same generation. And she's in charge of this project now."

"But … but _Jerry_," whined the pompous asshole.

"I've told you before, Newton—you don't get to use my first name."

I smiled smugly and cracked my knuckles. "All right, let's fix this hot mess." I thought I saw that Newton guy snarling at me, but it may have been a facial tic. "Have you considered using laser cats?" I began.

* * *

After a long afternoon in Dr. Aroaway's lab, I hurried back to my room to work on actual homework. It wasn't until my stomach started growling that I realized I'd missed dinner. There were vending machines in the lounge, so I figured I'd just eat some salty crap and get back to work.

I was digging in my pockets for loose change as I walked into the hallway, which was probably the reason I didn't notice the floor had become a solid sheet of ice. Predictably, I wiped out and fell hard on my ass. "The hell?" I muttered, trying to stand back up.

Esme came running—skating, rather—over to me. Of course she'd be behind this. She reached out a hand to help me up. "Welcome to Pacific Tech. Smart people on ice. Let's go skating."

"I don't know, Esme—I've still got a lot of homework …"

"EVERYONE MUST BE SKATING!" She flung me out so I spun in a circle before falling flat on my ass again.

As I sat, the cold seeping right through the seat of my jeans, I noticed a girl with the bounciest, shiniest golden curls I'd ever seen. She was wearing goofy aviator goggles and sitting in a sled at the top of the stairs someone had covered with a ramp. After she gave a thumbs up, two people gave her a push, and she came hurtling down the stairs. It looked super cool at first, but then she totally wiped out and fell out of the sled. It looked painful—possibly dangerous—so I picked my way across the ice to see if she needed help. I would have run, but my butt was getting pretty sore from the constant falling.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, reaching out my hand as she took off her goggles and shook out her bouncy, bouncy hair.

Her voice was surprisingly low as she spoke a mile a minute. "No, not emotionally, no I'm not. I'm disappointed, not terribly, but still. It should have gone much further, much faster. It's okay though; I know what the problem is. It's obviously the drag co-efficient." She stopped talking long enough to flip the sled back over. "I just have to fix the blades. I can do that, no problem. I could do that here, but for their design I have to cut them, and that takes tools." She looked at me, finally noticing that she didn't know me. "What's your name?"

"Isabella Swan—I mean, just Bella."

"Oh, thank you for your help. Okay, I'll see you later. Okay, bye."

She turned abruptly and began pushing the sled away. I asked Esme, "Who was that girl?"

Esme snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. God, was she always high or something?

The curly-haired girl came back. "I'm Jasper. I forgot to tell you my name. I'm Jasper. I heard there was going to be someone new this term—are you it?"

"Yeah," I said. _Jasper? What kind of girl's name was Jasper?_ And why did she have such big manhands? And that large Adam's apple? And a weird bulge in her jeans? Oh. _Oh_. I looked at her—his—hair again. Wow, that coif was unfortunate.

Jasper asked, "Do you have a bed?"

"Yeah." I coughed. Was he coming onto me?

"I was gonna make you one if you didn't have one. But you have, okay. Okay, I'll see you later. Okay, bye." He waved a hand awkwardly at me and left again.

It was weird; while he was here, I felt all jittery, like I'd just slammed back six or seven espressos, and my brain was humming like squirrels busily chattering. As soon as he left, though, I was normal again. "He was going to make me a bed?" I asked Esme, who was still snickering.

"He kind of never sleeps, like, ever, so he's very … productive," she shrugged, still laughing. "Oh my god, I can't believe you thought he was …"

I cut her off, already embarrassed at my mistake. "Come on, is hair like that normal? I mean, I could even understand a mullet, but what the fuck? He's like Shirley Temple on speed."

Esme put on a stern expression. "You have to understand, Jasper is the most recent to adopt our lifestyle … it's hard for him. So if he finds it more comfortable to grow this horrible puffball hair and suddenly adopt a Civil-War-era southern accent he's never exhibited before, we should be supportive of his coping mechanisms." She melted again into a fit of giggles. "I'm sorry, I totally set you up. His hair confuses everyone. The odd thing is that his hair looked pretty normal freshman year. Sophomore year it started to get bizarre and floofy to the point where we wondered if it was a wig, and then this September he showed up with that goofy accent."

"Has anyone talked to him about it? Maybe the guy needs help."

Esme shrugged. "You just saw him. You want to try to tell him anything more than 'hi' and 'bye'?"

"Does he make you, you know, _nervous_?" I asked. "Like, when he's spazzing out all around you?"

"You noticed that too? Some days I'm convinced he's an empath, but for hyperactivity."

"That could be useful during finals," I mused.

"Molto bene! I like the way you think, Swan," Esme said. "Now who wants a hug?"

Crap, I was going to fall on the ice again trying to outrun her.

* * *

I'd been at Pacific Tech for about a month, and mostly it was going well. That guy Newton continued to be a gigantic pill. I had no idea what crawled up his butt and died, but it probably had pointy teeth and sharp talons. Esme hadn't stopped invading my personal space, but I'd grown rather fond of pulling away from her strange, maternal urges—it was like a fucked up, nonsexual roommate tango. Dr. Aroaway seemed awfully tense about building his prototype on some schedule. Maybe it had something to do with the terms of his grant. Whatever the reason, his temper was practically uncontrollable. Anything could set him off. I wondered if the thing that had crawled up Newton's butt and died had mysteriously resurrected, crawled into Dr. Aroaway's butt, and died again.

In other news, Jasper's hair was inexplicably fluffier and more fake looking. One morning, I was taking care of my morning pee when I heard clomping footsteps echo on the tile of the floor bathroom.

"This stall is occupied," I said, doing that territorial coughing thing.

"Oh good morning!"

Was that _Jasper_? In the girls' bathroom? "I thought I saw you come in here. It's me, Jasper. We met the other day, out in the hallway? I had a sled? Oh, here, I made you a sweater last night."

He threw the sweater over the stall. It was lumpy and strange, much like this encounter.

"You knit this last night?" I asked, trying to sound polite and not at all freaked out.

"Yeah, it's just something I do with my hands. I hope I got the size right. I can check on it when you're done in there. I'm pretty sure I did. I have a twin sister, and I use her for a sizing comparison, and I have a pretty good eye for that kind of thing, and so I just went ahead and made you one, because, you know, I was up. Are you peeing?"

"I was, yeah."

"Oh. I never sleep; I don't know why. I had a roommate and I drove him nuts. I mean really nuts. They had to take him away in an ambulance and everything. But he's okay now. But he had to transfer to an easier school. But I don't know if that had anything to do with being my fault. But listen, if you ever need to talk or anything because I'm just a couple doors down from you guys and I never sleep, okay?"

Since that morning he'd knit me several sets of footie pajamas and cozies for all of my textbooks. He'd also made me a chainmail shirt. Seriously, that guy _never _slept. It was rather troubling.

And that pale guy with the pools of urine eyes still showed up randomly, wordlessly slipping into my closet and disappearing. Once I tried to ask Esme about him, but she'd just asked me if I wanted her to give me a bikini wax. I thought I saw him oiling the hinges on my closet door one night, but I was half asleep and not sure if I'd just dreamed the whole thing. Some nights I had this weird feeling that I was being _watched_, even while I was dreaming. I imagined him sitting on my desk chair and watching me sleep. Frankly, it was kind of creepy, him and his pools of urine eyes. _Why doesn't that guy hang out with Jasper? They could play cards or something_, I'd think as I'd drift off to sleep.

So all in all, it was your typical fifteen-year-old-goes-to-college experience, I supposed. I mean, what did I know? My dad had licorice growing out of his face.

It was after I'd opened my eyes in the middle of the night to find that guy sniffing my hair that I thought I'd risk a roommate-administered bikini wax. "Did you know there's a guy living in our closet?"

Esme sighed. "You've seen him too?"

"He watches me when I sleep. I think. Who is he?"

"That's Edward Cullen."

"Why does he keep going into our closet?"

Esme countered, "Why do you keep going into our closet?"

"To get my clothes, but that's not why he goes in there."

She snorted. "Of course not. He's twice your size; your clothes would never fit him. Plus I doubt he's a transvestite. I mean, he's kind of fruity, but not in that way."

"Well, this has been illuminating," I said. "Thanks."

"Now how about that bikini wax? I'll make it a Brazilian for free. I don't mind getting into your asscrack if it'll make you happy."

"Umm, my pubes are good for now, thanks."

Esme furrowed her brow. "If you say so." She didn't sound so convinced. "Listen, I have to stop by Dr. Aroaway's house. I'll see you later."

When she had left, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I opened the closet door, pushed all the clothes to one side, and peered around. I'd done this countless times before. I ran my hands along the walls, trying to find some latch or secret passageway. On a whim, I stepped inside and shut the door all the way. A tiny panel opened, with a sign that said, "This is it. You are my life now." Well, that wasn't creepy at _all_. No, sir.

Because I have the best instincts _ever_, I followed the sign to a small metal car. It looked like a miniature silver Volvo. I climbed in, fastening the seatbelt, because I'm not an idiot. After a short ride down, the car stopped in a dark tunnel. I thought I could hear Debussy. I crept down the tunnel toward a dim light. I heard a scuffle, snarling, and Debussy. When I finally reached the end of the tunnel, I saw this Edward Cullen grappling with what looked to be a mountain lion. He batted the lion from hand to hand like it was a ball of string. With a swift move, he snapped the lion's neck and bit into it. He actually said, "Om nom nom nom," as he slurped away. I knew some people liked their meat rare, but I was still puzzled. I mean, where did he even find a mountain lion? And why was he listening to Debussy? Actually, the Debussy part was less weird than the mountain lion part. Focus on the mountain lion. How'd he even sneak that thing into the dorms? Like, through my room? Of course, this would explain that one morning I found all my panties shredded to bits on the floor.

I suddenly felt like I was intruding on something really private between Edward Cullen and this mountain lion, so I rode the tiny silver Volvo back up to my closet to give him some space. I needed to get to the lab anyway.

* * *

Things in the lab weren't going well. The laser cats kept coughing up hairballs, stuff was smoking randomly, and my patience was wearing thin. Esme was supposed to be the expert on the circuitry and parabolic focusing shit, and she was always goofing off. I couldn't even remember the last time she'd made an appearance at the lab. I was pushing the heels of my hands into my eyeballs. I had no idea what time it was, but I hadn't eaten in hours and all my joints were creaking like I was the fucking tin man.

I was lying with my forehead against one of the work tables when I heard the door to the lab fly open.

"Here's … Esme!" she shouted, holding a fire axe in her hands.

Great, she'd finally lost it. And she was going to murder me. I welcomed death.

"God, you didn't even jump. You're no fun."

"Sorry, _Esme_, but I was too busy working on this shitty laser that won't work, and we're out of Fancy Feast for the laser cats, and …" I couldn't even finish; I was so annoyed at her slacking.

"I'm here now, pumpkin! Does someone need a hug?"

"No! Jesus! Just make this goddamn laser work!"

"All right, all right, keep your panties on," she said. "I mean, unless you're finally going to take me up on that offer to wax your pubes."

"What is your fascination with my general pubic area?"

"Self-centered much? It's _everyone's_ pubic area. I'm like Johnny Appleseed, but for pubic hair trimming. I consider it my life's mission. I'll also cut the existing pubes into a pleasing brontosaurus shape, or other dinosaur of your choosing."

I fastened my safety goggles. "Can we _please_ get back to the laser?"

"Right, right." Esme strapped on her goggles as well. "All right, fire this baby up. Give it full power. I have a feeling. I did some 'adjustments' while you were in the bathroom."

We got behind the protective wall, and I turned the power on. There was a humming, then a huge flash of light, and then a really bad smoked cat smell. Then all the lights went out. "Oh, crap," I said.

"Relax, it's just the fuses at the substation. They'll have it back on in a minute. Perhaps I shouldn't have shorted across the building transformer. But, more importantly, did we get a charge?" Esme flipped a switch, and the laser came on, bouncing off mirrors I hadn't noticed in the room before.

"What did you do?" I asked as Esme started pushing me out the door. "Wait, where are we going?"

"Come on, little monster pubes! You said you wanted help, so here we go."

"Help" turned out to be a party she'd set up with the local chapter of Chippendale dancer apprentices. It was wall-to-wall oiled hardbodies. I gulped hard and tugged on Esme's sleeve. "I don't think this is going to help with the prototype."

"Sure it is, honey! You just need a hot protein injection. That'll get those neurons firing!" She pushed me into a pile of gyrating men.

"I'm not sure these guys … like … girls," I hissed.

"That's okay," she said, guiding my hands onto some stranger's extremely muscular buttocks. "Didn't you know that nothing is hotter than seeing a bunch of guys make out and act like emotional girls?"

"I'm very uncomfortable right now!" I squeaked. I ran into the hallway, where I ran into Jasper, who was wearing a mesh tank top. "Oh, hey, Jasper," I said. "Why aren't you out there?"

"Despite what you may have read about me on the Internet, I'm not gay. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that, you know? There are all these stories floating around about me and that guy living in your closet? That Cullen guy? And how I teach him the joys of anal? Well, I don't know where they get that, but I've never even seen him naked. I mean, never even touched myself while thinking of him. I MEAN, I'm nineteen, and I'm brilliant, and I'm hyper kinetic, and I have this authentic Civil-War-era accent. So guys find me fascinating. Probably if I stopped to think about it I'd be upset. Or flattered. Or turned on. Or, oh jeez! Wait for me, guys!" He flailed around and ran right into the pile of dudes I'd just escaped.

"Swan!" I heard behind me. That didn't sound like Esme at all. I turned around. Shit, Dr. Aroaway.

"H-hi, Dr. Aroaway. What brings you here?" Just then I noticed Newton standing behind him with a smug expression on his face.

"Swan! You were supposed to be in the lab tonight, working."

I combed my fingers through my hair, which was all greasy from the Chippendale apprentices' body lube. "I was! I just got …"

"You're at Pacific Tech to work, not to play doctor," Dr. Aroaway snapped.

"I _was_ working! I just got delayed."

He gave me a withering glance. "I took a big chance recommending a fifteen year old. I can see now that I made a mistake. I hope you're proud of yourself." He turned on his heel and stormed out of there. I could have sworn I heard the Imperial Death March.

I realized then that the music had stopped and everyone was staring at me. Laughing, even. Shamed and feeling guilty, I ran all the way back to the lab. I picked up the office phone and called my parents.

"Mom? I want to come home."

Nothing on the other line.

"Mom? Are you still there?"

Finally she started talking. "Baby? You sound upset. What's wrong?"

"I don't like it here anymore, Mom. I want to come home and live with you."

I talked to her a little bit, but she was surprisingly unsympathetic. I hung up the phone and sobbed silently before returning to the lab and sitting in the dark until I saw the sun come up. Might as well go to breakfast.

I stared morosely into my oatmeal. Esme suddenly appeared, pulling out the chair opposite me and sitting down. "Where were you last night?" she asked.

"In the lab, where _you_ were supposed to be."

Just then the PA crackled to life. The voice sounded familiar. The voice … shit, the voice was me!

"_Mom? Mom, are you there?"_

"_Baby, you sound upset. What's wrong?"_

"_Mom, I don't like it here anymore. I want to come home and live with you._

"_It's not for you to like. It's for you to do. You're fifteen years old now."_

"_But I want to come home and live with you!"_

Who had recorded my call last night?

"_You want to live with me and Daddy?"_

"_Yeah, and Dad too. I want to go back to high school."_

There was a lot of snickering around me, the loudest coming from Newton and his cronies. It figured, the prissy little bastard.

"_Winners never quit, Bella. Plus, I already converted your room to my workshop."_

"_What?"_

"_Well, we had all this extra licorice around, and I've always wanted to start my own mail-order confectionary—it just seemed like the right time." _

"_Why can't I sleep in the workshop? I'll just put my sleeping bag on the floor! I don't want to stay here anymore!"_

"_Now, Bella! That doesn't sound like Mama's little deputy."_

By now the laughing had gotten so loud that it was drowning out the phone call. I abandoned my oatmeal and ran to my room as fast as my legs would take me. I grabbed suitcases and started throwing my shit in them. I had to get out of here.

"Well, if you want to leave, go ahead. But, uh, you're gonna miss the fun."

God, Esme had a way of sneaking up on a person.

"What fun?" I mumbled. "The other night I needed your help and all you wanted to do was party!"

"I did help you," she insisted. "I tried to help you relax."

"Being snubbed by gay exotic dancers-in-training is not my idea of relaxing."

"No?"

"You know, I thought this place was going to be different. But it's just the same! In high school they stuffed me in a mailbox. Did I tell you that?"

Esme sat on the edge of my bed. "My teachers used to hate me because I was smarter than they were. Students hated me because I blew the grading curve. Does that sound familiar? Isabella, I used to be just like you. My mother used to dress me in white shirts and Hush Puppies and made me carry a briefcase guaranteeing that a guy would never talk to me. And when I first came here, for three years I studied all the time."

"You?" I couldn't picture it.

"Yeah. And then one night I was sitting right over there, and I had a vision."

"Of what?"

"Cullen."

"That pale guy in the closet?"

"Edward fucking Cullen. And I followed him into the closet and down into the steam tunnels, and there I saw the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life."

"Did you see mountain lions too?"

"I may have."

"I don't understand what this has to do with me."

"Have you ever talked to him?"

I thought back to the mountain lion and the "om nom nom" sounds. "He seemed kind of busy."

"Well, he used to be the number one stud around here in the 1940s. Smarter than you and me put together."

"1940s? He doesn't look older than twenty!"

"Well, he's a vampire. They don't age."

"Wait, _what_?"

"Do you want to hear this story or not? It's extremely enlightening."

I groaned. "Fine. So what happened? Did he crack?"

"Yes, Isabella. He cracked, severely."

"Why? And say 'crack' again."

"He loved his work. Crack."

"Well, what's wrong with that?" I was still trying to wrap my brain around the part where that guy in the closet was a vampire.

Esme put her arm around me. "There's nothing wrong with that, but that's all he did. He loved solving problems; he loved coming up with the answers. But he thought that the answers were the answer for everything. Wrong. All science, no philosophy. So then one day someone tells him that the stuff he's making was killing people. Also, his being a vampire was also killing people. He had a wicked human blood tooth back then, before he switched over to an all-animal diet."

"So what's your point? Are you saying I'm going to end up in a steam tunnel? And a vampire?" I added.

"Yeah."

"I'm going to turn into a vampire? That doesn't make any scientific sense."

"Look, if you keep up like this, Isabella, I can't guarantee that you won't become a vampire and go on a student eating spree. But you don't need to run away from here. When you're smart, people need you. Use your mind creatively."

"Like, in honing my pubic hair trimming skills?"

Esme grinned. "Bingo."

"Yeah, but if I stay, what should I do?"

"The first thing you should do is get even with Newton. It's a moral imperative."

I smiled for the first time in days.

* * *

In the end, it was extremely easy—just set up a secret webcam in his dorm room. That Newton kid was _sick_. There was nothing he wouldn't masturbate into, including a wad of Silly Putty onto which he'd pressed the image of Mickey Rooney. Mickey Rooney, really? A few student-body-wide emails with choice video files attached, and I felt pretty good about myself. Newton didn't leave his room for days, and when he finally did, he discovered the pile we'd left for him of Silly Putty eggs, adult diapers, jars of mayonnaise, and other items we'd seen him jack off into.

I felt sorry for the guy, almost.

Almost.

And Esme really stepped up and helped me finish the prototype. We actually got the fucker working, and when we brought Dr. Aroaway in for a demo, he actually patted me on the back. "Good work, Swan."

Esme and I were out celebrating our success with a burger. We toasted each other with milkshakes. She took a big sip through her straw, put her cup down, and said, "Edward."

I turned around and saw that pale guy from the closet standing behind me.

Esme smiled and said, "Edward, I'm so glad you came out. You want a hamburger?"

I hissed, "He's a vampire! Isn't that rude, to offer him food?"

Edward spoke for the first time since I'd gotten to Pacific Tech. "I've been thinking about your laser solution."

"Oh yeah?" said Esme, leaning forward and pushing her boobs onto the table.

"I figure you've increased the power output to six megawatts?" he asked, ignoring her boobs.

"Yeah, about that," Esme said, fluffing up her boobs again.

"Well, what would you use that for?" asked Edward. I couldn't stop looking at his urine-colored eyes.

Finally I said, "The applications are unlimited."

Edward looked chagrined. "No. With the fuel you've come up with the beam would last for … what? Fifteen seconds? What good is that?"

"Edward, honey," began Esme, "that doesn't matter. I mean, respect you, but I graduated."

"Yeah, let the engineers figure out a use for it," I agreed. "That's not our concern."

Edward looked pained. "Maybe somebody already has a use for it. One for which it is specifically designed."

"You mean Dr. Aroaway had something in mind all along?" Esme asked.

More chagrin. "Look at the facts! Very high powered, portable, limited firing power, unlimited range. All's you'd need is a tracking system and a large spinning mirror, and you could vaporize a human target from space."

Esme and I looked at each other.

"This is not good," Esme said.

We paid our bill, and the three of us ran to the lab. The laser was gone—it was as if it had _never even existed_.

"No," said Esme.

"Oh, no," I said.

Esme ran into the side room and came back, looking slightly seasick. "The tracking system Newton built is gone."

"I can't believe Aroaway lied to us!" I said.

"It's easy to lie to you, Isabella. You trust people. I'm a cynic. I'm such an asshole."

Edward spoke. I'd nearly forgotten he was there. "I understand how you feel, Esme. And you're right. But what we should be doing now is trying to find out what he's doing."

"Wait, can't you read minds?" Esme asked.

"Oh, right," said Edward. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Oh, he's going to the Department of Defense with it. Okay, he's going to meet them in a secret military compound now to show them the prototype."

"He can read minds?" I said.

"Yeah, didn't I mention that?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, he can."

I turned to Edward. "What am I thinking?"

He scoffed. "Well, I can't read _your_ mind. Because you're a freak. Also, you smell delicious."

"Can we make out now?" I asked.

He thought for a minute. "Okay," he agreed, shrugging.

"You taste like mountain lion balls," I said.

"Um, guys?" Esme interrupted. "Shouldn't we be getting that laser back?"

"Oh, right," we said, wiping our mouths.

With Edward's mindreading capabilities, it was easy to find Dr. Aroaway. "Wait, what's our plan?" I asked as we drove into the compound.

"Well," Esme whispered, "I thought we could try to redirect the trajectory of the beam so the demo will appear not to have worked. And maybe we could direct the laser to Dr. Aroaway's house, which we could have pre-filled with popcorn kernels, since he really hates the smell of popcorn."

"That sounds complicated," I said. Edward just parked behind some bushes and cut the engine.

"Here, put these on," said Edward, pulling out some white labcoats.

"Ooh, secret espionage mission!" I said.

"Um, yes, something like that," he said, avoiding eye contact.

He led us through some buildings and tunnels until we were in a large room with Dr. Aroaway, a bunch of military dudes, and the laser. "Okay, so what do we do now?" I asked, crouching down behind some garbage cans.

"Wait here," he told us.

I was expecting some major stroke of brilliance, but all I saw was a vaguely Edward-shaped blur. He was gone, and so fast that even my pubic hairs were blown back. "What the hell is he doing?" I asked Esme. She just shook her head.

We could hear the clanging and twisting of metal, glass shattering, noses punched, and a lot of profanity on the part of Dr. Aroaway. Then something picked me up roughly, and I was flying through the air.

"Edward?" I asked once I'd caught my breath. Everything was jiggling: my vision, my boobs, Esme's boobs. He had us pinned under each of his arms, and he was running back to the car.

"Get in, hurry!" he said when he dumped us on the ground next to his car. I had newborn colt legs for a while, so he ended up just opening the door and placing me carefully inside like a doll in a dollhouse.

Once we were inside and speeding away, I asked, "So, why exactly did we need these labcoats?"

"I like labcoats. They're very hygienic."

"So what's going to happen now?" I massaged my belly, which now bore a distinctively vampire-arm-shaped bruise.

"Oh, I destroyed the laser, punched out the DoD guys, and castrated Aroaway. It was so fast he probably didn't notice. It's all good."

"Did we really need to be here? Me and Esme, I mean."

"Eh, probably not," Edward admitted. "But I feel … very … protective of you."

"Have you been watching me sleep at night?"

Edward twitched a little. "Um. What? Ha ha, that sounds creepy! Who would do that?"

"You, maybe?"

Esme whispered, "_Awkward_!"

"I HAVE A PRIVATE ISLAND, YOU KNOW," Edward yelled suddenly.

"Weren't we talking about you spying on me while I sleep?"

"SOMETIMES I BITE PILLOWS."

"Are you uncomfortable, Esme?" I asked. "I'm a bit uncomfortable."

"YOU'RE MY SPECIAL BRAND OF HEROIN!"

"Umm, can you let me out here?" I asked.

"I'M A MONSTER!"

"Really, here is good. I can walk the rest of the way." I rattled the door latch.

"I HAVE A RING THAT LOOKS LIKE A CHEESE GRATER. IT BELONGED TO MY MOTHER. I WOULD LIKE TO GIVE IT TO YOU."

"Anywhere is fine, really."

"I DIED OF SPANISH INFLUENZA."

I looked at Esme, who shrugged. "He gets like this sometimes. Don't worry about it."

"I KILLED THEM LIKE ANIMALS! THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN! I KILLED YOUNGLINGS!"

"Dude, I think that's Anakin," I said.

"He can't really hear you right now," said Esme.

"DO NOT WANT!"

"Is he going to swallow his tongue?"

"He hasn't before."

"CAN'T READ MY! CAN'T READ MY! NO HE CAN'T READ MY POKER FACE!"

It was going to be a long ride back.

"Do you have your bikini wax kit with you?" I asked Esme.

"Do I!" She started rummaging around her backpack.

I hitched up my skirt. "Can you do like a T-rex with really tiny arms? And he's holding a martini?"

Esme peered at my junk. "Did anyone ever tell you your pubes are made of licorice?"

Son of a bitch!


End file.
